


Priming Effect

by Ashilaa_A03



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Alternative Universe - Cannon Divergent, Currently at: POA, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Fem!Harry, Graphic Violence, Grooming, Horcruxes, Mildly Dubious Consent, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Physical Abuse, Possible Character Death, Slytherin Harry Potter, Soul Magic, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-14 12:06:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 24,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28920288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ashilaa_A03/pseuds/Ashilaa_A03
Summary: Halley thought she would find her salvation in Hogwarts; it gave her warmth, food, and a chance to survive. But when the Chamber of Secrets opens, she learns once again that you can never trust a good thing.-----------------------------“I have a proposition for you, Miss Potter.”“What is it?”“Have you ever been trapped somewhere Halley?” he asked, as he walked around the girl. He knew her eyes were on him and it made Tom feel powerful, like he hadn’t felt in a long while. “And no matter what you do, you can’t be free.”“Yes,” she said.“It’s torturous, isn’t it?” he asked.Halley didn’t know what to say. This was a new kind of behaviour, one that she didn’t know how to deal with. The closest she’d come to seeing it was with Dumbledore; placing himself above the conversation by stating all these questions that she was never going to get an answer to.“I’ve waited an incredibly long time to escape.”“Is that why you made her open the Chamber?” Halley asked.“No."
Relationships: Harry Potter & Pansy Parkinson & Daphne Greengrass, Harry Potter/Tom Riddle, Tom Riddle/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 112





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> For those who have dared to enter, please make note of both the tags and the warnings (namely the lack of warnings). This chapter is fine, but if you're sensitive to things this fic is very likely not for you. Take heed. 
> 
> If you're staying then welcome. I have three betas for this fic and none of them looked over this chapter because I forgot it was a thing. Initially, it was coming in later but I feel like it works much better now. This is also the FIRST of TWO chapters posted today because this prologue is so short. So enjoy this one and the second chapter. I have 19 written so far and so will be posting weekly for now. I hope it doesn't change but this is going to be a long fic (shrugs). 
> 
> Enjoy and I would love to hear your thoughts.

* * *

**Prologue: A lifetime of laughter at the expense of the death**

* * *

At first glance, the house on Privet Drive was an ordinary one. The front of the house was painted an off-white to match the other houses, the shrubs were all exactly the same height as one another, the flower bed in the front garden had its buds aligned perfectly so that when they bloomed, they would form a very structured rainbow that would appeal to the eye of any passerby. 

This was how they lived their life, the Dursleys. Under a pathological need to conform to the standards of society. Within a fear that ran so far beneath their skins that it was embedded into their very souls. 

But they needn’t have worried. Nothing out of the ordinary happened in 12 Privet Drive. Or so they thought. 

It was a perfectly normal evening. 

Petunia Dursley had made dinner for her family and they were gathered around the dining room table, their meals on their plates. Despite having only given birth to a boy a year ago, Petunia seemed to be getting on with daily life. Her husband, Vernon, had only just gotten his new job selling drills and they were all very pleased with themselves. 

Then there was a knock at the door. 

Not expecting any guests, Vernon looked to his wife. She shook her head and placed Dudley in the high chair next to them. When she got to the door, her life would change. 

There it was, laying on her ‘welcome’ mat, was something that was not expected at all. The bundle of blankets covered most of the small body. Only the top half of its face was showing; pale skin made to look slightly orange by the glow of the streetlamp across the road, small tufts of dark hair and a raised, red, inflamed lightning-shaped scar. On top of the blanket was a note signed: ‘Albus Dumbledore’.

For a moment Petunia froze at the name she’d tried to forget for so long but she never had. The familiar swoop of the ‘D’ was so ingrained in her mind that she could still see it when she closed her eyes. She almost didn't notice the small thing rustling but when she did, her heart began to beat furiously. 

It looked like it was about to make some sort of noise. That it was going to draw unwanted attention to her and she couldn't have that.

They were an ordinary family. 

But still, something stopped her. 

Maybe it was a mistake. Maybe they had the wrong number and all she would have to do was take it to the police station and everything would be fine. One night wouldn’t hurt, would it? And she didn't want a baby to freeze to death because she wasn't a horrible person. 

But it wasn’t until it opened its eyes and blinked, and the bright green eyes stared right through her that Petunia slammed the door shut. 

“What’s wrong?” Vernon asked at his wife’s pale face. She sat down at her seat and resumed feeding Dudley as if nothing had happened but he knew his wife. 

“No-nothing,” she stammered out. “They got the wrong door.” 

He didn’t believe her but he knew his wife well enough. If she didn’t want him to know then he would trust her - well that and Petunia was able to talk for hours when she was annoyed by something and he would rather not have to deal with that at the moment.

They resumed eating. 

On the other side of the door, a young girl was trying to sneak back into her home. Hannah Barker had been out with her friends, though she had been grounded. Of course that wouldn’t stop her though. Even at the age of fifteen, she was going places.

At least that’s what her parents told her. Of course, Hannah’s version of going places generally meant the shopping centre or bowling. So much pressure made for a suffocated girl in her opinion. 

But they didn’t want her opinion, did they? 

Funnily enough, Hannah would have made it into the house if the baby hadn’t started crying. 

She was fortunate enough to live right next to the Dursleys and their annoying brat of a son Dudley - really, what was the name? They were asking for him to get bullied weren't they - and so she heard his loud wailing through the somewhat thin walls all the time. 

They were horrible - loud and piercing in a way that made her want to claw her eyes out usually. So when she first heard the cries she rolled her eyes and thanked the brat for making so much noise. Maybe then her parents wouldn’t hear her climbing the tree to get into the house. 

But after a few seconds she noticed the difference. This cry wasn’t a fake one. And it was far too loud for it to be coming from inside her neighbours’ house. Her head spun around and there under the pale orange light was a small bundle. 

She was someone driven very much by her curiosity so of course she went to look. Sure enough, there was a small baby just...laying there?

Hannah looked around the neighbourhood because surely this was a prank. Some sort of social experiment to see what kind of person she was. But the baby was crying too loudly - too realistically - for it to be fake. 

And there was the fact that when she picked the screaming bundle up it stopped screaming so loudly. 

_Ok, so what was she supposed to do?_ There was a little baby in her arms and it was left outside the _Dursleys_ house, for crying out loud. The person was _obviously_ desperate because the Dursley family were horrible people. Mean spirited and wrapped up in this barely-there facade. 

There were definitely worse people out there, but there were also better ones too.

Still - it was left on their doorstep so…

She knocked on the door. She knocked again. She knocked a third time. 

Bloody hell! Were these people deaf or something? 

Hannah looked at the tiny thing wrapped in the blankets one more time and she made up her mind. She went home. With the baby. 

Of course, when she opened the door her parents were in the kitchen. “Hannah Beth where -” her father stopped short when he saw the bundle in her arms. “What is that?”

Hannah looked at the baby in her hands and paused. It was a tiny bit surreal and part of her still felt like she was in a dream but the weight and the warmth that emitted through the blanket made her answer with as much surety as she could in that second. “It’s a baby.”

“And where did you get a baby from?” her mother asked. 

“It was outside the Dursley’s home,” she said. “And yes of course I knocked but they weren’t answering and I couldn’t just leave it outside because it was freezing and the poor thing was crying.” 

She placed the bundle in her mother’s arms and watched as she unwrapped the blanket. A note fell out of it and Hannah snatched it up but when she turned it over, all she could read was _To Petunia Dursley_. With there being nothing of importance in the letter - so far as she could see - Hannah placed the note back down on top of the bundle and went back to the baby. 

“She’s a girl,” her mother said. 

“What are we going to do with her?” Hannah asked. 

“Nothing. She was left with the Dursley’s for a reason so we’ll feed her, change her nappy and then give her back to them,” her father said sternly. 

“But they can’t handle another kid - they can’t even manage the one they have now!” 

Her father’s stern gaze fell on her and she flinched. She couldn’t help it. “It is not any of our business. We’ll make sure the girl is ok tonight and then hand her over. She needs to be with her family.”

“You don’t know that that is her family though do you?” Hannah asked. Her mother’s eyes moved quickly to her, a sign telling her to keep quiet. 

“We’ll keep an eye on her, ok Hannah?” There was that placating tone that Hannah hated. It made her feel young and stupid - like she didn’t know any better. “If you’d like - I’m sure the Dursleys will let you babysit her.” 

Hannah looked between her parents and just couldn’t understand why they were being like this. They were kind, good people and she _knew_ there was something fishy going on. If nothing else, they would have gone to the police just to make sure that the child wasn’t abducted or something.

But she wasn’t going to win this battle - she knew that. It didn’t mean, however, that she would give up. That little girl with bright green eyes was alone. 

Something happened, but whatever it was, Hannah would make sure she wasn’t alone.

“Fine,” she said. “But let me hold her, please.” She was given the baby and she made her way upstairs to her room. They still had some of her old baby clothes; her mother was incredibly sentimental.

“Oh and Hannah -” she stopped and waited. “You’re grounded for a month.”

The things she did for other people! It was almost ridiculous. 


	2. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is stupid. She shouldn’t have come here. This wasn’t a job for her - it was for the adults to deal with. And yet here she was in the bloody chamber, moving slowly and her heart near beating out of her chest. Where was Weasley?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thanks to the three people who read through this to make sure there weren't mistakes, the pacing wasn't off and other miscellaneous things wrong with this chapter. Special thanks to WithPatienceComesPeace for helping me with the biggest cannon divergence bit, and to M and JujuGentle for reading over all the tedious grammatical errors.
> 
> Any mistakes now, are mine.

* * *

**Chapter 1: Just Close Your Eyes**

* * *

_ This is stupid. _ She shouldn’t have come here. This wasn’t a job for her - it was for the adults to deal with. And yet here she was in the bloody chamber, moving slowly and her heart near beating out of her chest.  _ Where was Weasley? _

Halley’s heart was beating hard, so hard that she could feel the pulse at the base of her neck. It was an unsettling feeling, but it paled in comparison to standing in the tunnel, at the mouth of the large chamber.

She could see a large statue from where she was and she froze. Why was she here? There were teachers, adults, who should have been down here doing what they were supposed to. 

She was a kid. She shouldn’t be standing ankle-deep in sewer water and -  _ was that blood? _

Halley felt her breath quicken in time with her heartbeat and everything was dizzy and she couldn’t -

Stop! 

She needed to stop! This wasn’t going to help anything right now and she couldn’t afford to have a panic attack again. Not right now. 

Halley steadied herself against a wall. It was slimy and cold with water trailing down it but categorising the sensations - no matter how much they made her want to shiver - was helping some. 

Slippery. Wet. Tough. Crumbling rock. Fuzzy moss. Smooth wall. 

Finally, her breath fell to a manageable pace and she looked up from the floor. 

She pulled out her wand and moved forward between the serpentine columns so very aware of the click-clack her Mary Janes made on the stone floor. Halley cursed her choice of footwear. Slowly, oh so slowly, Halley levelled with the last pair of pillars; she came face to face with the Chamber itself. 

It was larger than she expected - and the giant monkey face statue was more off-putting than she wanted it to be - but that could have been because the dim green lights made the shadows and crevices of the statue look like it was about to come alive. 

As her eyes swept down the statue she saw a small black-robed figure lying on the floor and Halley’s heart plummeted into her stomach. “Weasley?” she whispered. Even as soft as the whisper had been, it seemed to thunder through the Chamber’s silence. 

Halley glanced around her quickly to see if anyone was there, or if anyone had heard her, before levelling her wand and pointing it at the redhead. 

She approached and cautiously kneeled next to her. “Weasley? Are you ok?” Halley placed her wand down beside her so that she could use both hands to turn the girl over. Weasley’s face was white as marble and when Halley moved to check her pulse, she felt how cold she was. 

She wasn’t petrified, obviously, but her pulse was weak and if she was that cold, would she even be able to wake up? 

"She won't wake," a soft voice said behind her. 

Halley spun around. A tall, black-haired boy was leaning against the nearest pillar, watching. Halley froze. There was no one in the chamber when she’d looked. She hadn’t heard any footsteps either.  _ Where did he come from? _

"She's still alive," said Riddle. "But only just."

“Who are you? How did you get in here?” Halley asked. There wasn’t very much time. The girl was going to die if she didn’t get her out of there, but Halley had a bad feeling about something. And if there was one thing she had decided to trust, it was the pit that formed in her gut and made it heavy. 

“You don’t recognise me?” 

Halley took a moment to properly look at him. He was strangely blurred around the edges like she was seeing him through fog, or a misted window, but as she looked closer, she recognised him. 

“Riddle?” 

He smiled in response. But that memory was from half a decade ago and he still looked sixteen. “What are you?” 

"A memory," said Riddle too quietly for Halley to clearly identify the bitterness, but she was sure that was what it was. She’d heard that tone coming from her own mouth more than enough times to be sure. "Preserved in a diary for fifty years."

“What did you do to her?” she asked, slightly above a whisper. 

He laughed. The sound reverberated around the room and Halley was struck by how pretty it sounded - how unconstrained. “Why do you think I did something to her?” 

Halley looked at Weasley. Her face was pale and her eyes shut tight. Halley could vaguely see her chest moving up and down, so she was still alive, but it was a barely-there motion which made her wonder how long it would last. 

And she couldn’t answer Riddle’s question. For some reason, she was sure that the two were linked. 

So  _ how _ was she going to get her away from Riddle? 

“You didn’t answer my question,” Riddle said, his head tilted to one side. 

Halley swallowed and held onto all the training the last two years as a Slytherin had given her as firmly as she could. “Woman’s intuition,” she replied calmly. 

“I see.” 

Halley tried to look behind her but she didn’t want to turn her back to Riddle. Instead, she slowly moved her hand out to where her wand was lying only to find that  _ it wasn’t there anymore _ . 

But it was, somehow, in Riddle’s hand. 

He was twirling her wand between his long slender fingers. The black of the wood made them even paler than she thought they were. 

Halley swallowed. “Can I have my wand back please?” 

“You asked so nicely, I could almost hand it over.” Riddle looked at the wand closely, inspecting it, and Halley had a sudden fear that he would try and claim it as his own. “Except that I don’t think I would see you again Miss Potter.” 

“Do you want your own wand?” she asked. “Is that what you want? I could help you get one.” 

Riddle smiled and shook his head. “A kind offer but no. I have a proposition for you.” 

He took a step closer and it made it all the more noticeable to Halley that she was crouched on the floor over Ginevra Weasley, trying to listen for any change in Weasley’s breathing, and somehow keep them safe. But she was utterly defenceless. Her breath hitched. 

“It may not be the best time. The Basilisk could come at any moment.” 

“She won’t come until she’s called,” he said calmly. 

“How do you know that?” Halley asked. She was still very aware that it was becoming harder to hear Weasley’s breaths. 

Riddle looked at her intently. “Intuition.” 

Halley shuddered at the mocking lilt in his voice. 

“I have a proposition for you, Miss Potter.” 

“What is it?” 

“Have you ever been trapped somewhere Halley?” he asked, as he walked around the girl. He knew her eyes were on him and it made Tom feel powerful, like he hadn’t felt in a long while. “And no matter what you do, you can’t be free.”

“Yes,” she said. 

“It’s torturous, isn’t it?” he asked. 

Halley didn’t know what to say. This was a new kind of behaviour, one that she didn’t know how to deal with. The closest she’d come to seeing it was with Dumbledore; placing himself above the conversation by stating all these questions that she was never going to get an answer to. 

“I’ve waited an incredibly long time to escape.” 

“Is that why you made her open the Chamber?” Halley asked. Was it a bad idea that she kept drawing the attention back to Weasley? She had a sinking feeling that it was, but she just didn’t know what else to do. 

_ Why was she there? _

“No. Not at first. When Ginny found the diary, I wanted to fulfil Slytherin’s great work.” Riddle glanced down at her green and black tie. “You would know.” 

“What would I know?” she asked unhappily. This was not the time to play games and he kept talking, and Weasley was - she wasn’t breathing now. 

“You know that there’s an imbalance at Hogwarts.” Halley hadn’t expected those words to come out of his mouth. “Muggleborns treated like low-lives, disposable. Expectations are placed on them and when they fail to meet them because they have not learnt things quickly enough - because things are too different, too difficult, they are cast aside. But Purebloods are losing their ways. The Old Tradition is dying out because it is too Dark for the students to learn.” 

Halley grit her teeth. “What has that got to do with Slytherin?” she asked. 

“Slytherin was not against Muggleborns learning. What he was against was the customs they brought with them. Year by year, our traditions dulled until they became shadows of themselves. So if the Muggleborns were unwilling to learn, and the Purebloods were unwilling to teach, what other way is there than to stifle the flow of Muggleborns.” 

But - but - 

Her brain was jammed. All that was going around in her head were the thoughts that had echoed there over the last two years. What he was saying rang too true to her; she had seen it.

But that didn’t mean he had to kill people. He didn’t need to eradicate Muggleborns. And he certainly hadn’t needed to bring Weasley down there to die. 

But she couldn’t panic. She needed to stay calm and deal with what was right in front of her. 

“Why did you need her then?” She watched his eyes slide over the two of them and it made her want to protect Weasley but she didn’t dare move. 

He was still circling. They were his prey. And right now, he still had Halley’s wand. 

“I don’t think you’d like the answer,” he chuckled. 

Halley bit down on her lip as she saw the smirk on his mouth. His mouth that seemed to be fuller and less translucent than it had been when she first saw him. 

In fact, all of him seemed more solid. 

With a start, Halley reached for Weasley’s pulse point. It was still icy. But there was nothing there. 

Her heart raced again and Halley forced back tears. 

Ginny was dead. 

There was nothing she could do about that now. Nothing. But she needed to figure out a way to get herself out before something else happened. 

“What did you do to her?” she asked coldly. 

“Ginny wrote in the diary. All of her hopes, her fears, her dreams, her tears. She poured out her soul into the book and I took what was offered.” All the while he spoke, he watched the girl’s pale face get paler. And Halley’s hands started shaking. 

“You took her soul?” Halley asked. It sounded hollow to her ears and she wondered if she was in shock. This didn’t feel like the shock she was used to. No. There was more confusion to it. “Why?” 

“A soul is raw energy.” 

“So you...you used Ginny’s? To make yourself a body?” she asked. 

Riddle laughed. “Very close. It seems like you’re a clever one, Miss Potter.” 

Halley waited for him to continue but he didn’t. Somehow it felt like there was a divide in her mind. A half of it was focused exclusively on Riddle and her wand still in his hand. He’d stopped fiddling with it now, but every so often she saw his fingers stroke down the wood. It was disconcerting to watch but she didn’t know why. 

The other half of her mind belatedly realised that she still had her hand on Ginny’s cold body - only it wasn’t so cold anymore and it wasn’t because she was miraculously coming back to life. 

No. 

The body was soaking up the heat of Halley’s own hand. 

The nauseous feeling that slithered into her body was sluggish as well, and for a moment it was all she could do to jerk her hand away from Ginny’s body. 

As soon as she did, she remembered that Riddle was still paying very close attention to her and his - her - wand was now raised towards her. 

Was she going to die by her own wand? 

A bitter laugh forced itself out her mouth and with her brain still too fuzzy to really pay attention to anything else but the fact that she was amid a threat and death, and no one was going to come and get her.

_ Was this worse than Uncle Vernon’s beatings? _ she wondered as she stood up shakily, a hand on her knee to steady her. Her Mary-Jane’s clicked delicately as she stood up. She wasn’t sure. It was certainly more convoluted than how she’d expected to die. 

But what could she do? Nothing had trained her for this. Standing at the end of her own wand and watching a memory-come-to-life look at her with bemusement. 

No-one would come - no-one would come for her -  _ till she’s called. _

Tom watched her stand with interest. This girl, this child who had somehow beaten his grown self, did not seem so neatly under Dumbledore's thumb. The disregard of the Weasley chit’s body was not the response she should have shown. And the girl was in Slytherin. Maybe he could use her.

“Are you ready to listen to my proposition now, Miss Po-”

Halley rushed him. 

With enough momentum she pushed him back and down. She heard a dull thud and a hiss of pain. “ _ Come out - come eat!” _ she hissed.

She used that moment to scramble up and try and grab her wand but Riddle was too quick. 

He grappled her and rolled them around, pinning her wrists above her head in one of his own and pointed the wand at her throat, smacking her head against the stone floor in the process.

“ _ That hurt, _ ” he hissed out.

The sound of stone moving against stone echoed out and made the both of them turn towards the origin. The gigantic stone face was moving - its mouth opening wider by the second and even in its darkness Halley could see something stirring and slithering in its depth. 

Riddle’s eyes cut to the girls. “How did you do that?” he yelled. 

She didn’t answer. 

The Basilisk's body hit the stone floor and Halley felt it shudder. Behind her closed eyes, she could almost imagine the Basilisk uncoiling and rearing its large head. 

_ “Stop,”  _ she heard.  _ “You are not needed.” _

_ “I am hungry,”  _ it hissed back angrily. 

Halley felt something come near her. It was more the presence of something large, but she swore she could almost feel it brush against her fingertips. She didn’t dare struggle against Riddle now. 

_ “Take the dead one,”  _ he said. 

Halley’s heart sunk. “ _ No! _ ” 

_ “Quiet!” _ Riddle shouted. The word bounced off the walls, repeating the order again and again and again.  _ “Your food is there.” _

_ “Food!”  _

Halley heard the sound of scales slithering along the stone floor, further away from them but closer to Weasley. It wouldn’t! He wouldn’t let it! 

She felt Riddle’s body shift and suddenly she was yanked into a sitting position. He’d moved behind her and as the cool air rushed onto her face, she felt his lips against the shell of her ear. 

“Won’t you watch, Potter?” he asked. “This was your idea, after all.” There was steel lacing his voice, undercut by anger and Halley shuddered. 

She wouldn’t. She wouldn’t watch. 

“Do you know how snakes feed?” he asked, his lips the shell of her ear. “They wrap their bodies around their prey, generating a bone-crushing pressure. Right now, Ginny’s ribs, her skull, her arms and legs, they’re all cracking. Can you hear it?”

She could. Crack after crack, almost pulsing in time, vibrating around her, burrowing its way into her skull.  _ “ _ Please,” she whispered. Riddle laughed and she covered her ears trying to block out the sound but she could still hear his laugh and the cracks in her brain. 

Halley couldn’t help it. She opened her eyes just a fraction. And just in time to see the Basilisk swallow Weasley whole - head first - before she shut them again. 

A moment later she heard the Basilisk again.  _ “More!” _ it demanded. 

_ “Return to your nest,”  _ Riddle said.

_ “More!” _

_ “You will listen to your heir,”  _ she heard through her hand-covered ears. 

She removed her hands and heard the Basilisk hiss, but she couldn’t understand it. It took her a moment to realise that it was the sound of pure animalistic fury rather than a legible word and it struck her with terror. 

For four excruciating seconds it seemed like Riddle was not going to be able to control the snake and Halley felt herself tremble in fear, eyes still closed and nowhere to run.

But the four seconds passed and she heard the same grinding slither move away from her. The sound of stone grinding and one last snarl. Then it was like nothing had happened.

“You’re a Parstlemouth,” Riddle said tightly, but it was muffled by the sound of her heart beating too quickly in her ears. 

Halley opened her eyes. There was a flash of bright light and double vision. She felt dizzy. And then it passed. 

Ginny was dead. 

Ginny had been - she was dead. 

And it was Halley’s fault. 

She blinked. Her eyes were very wet and there was a salty-metallic flavour in her mouth. 

She was breathing very hard. Too hard. It was happening again. She could feel it. 

But just like all the other times, she couldn’t stop it. 

“What are you doing?” Riddle yelled. 

What was she doing? Halley wasn’t sure. She just knew that she was still lying on the floor and wasn’t able to breathe properly. 

Her mouth was wet but her throat was dry and when she tried to swallow there was just more metallic sliding down her throat. She was swallowing her own blood. 

She looked up. His face was contorted into sharp edges and shadows that were tinted a pale, sickly green that made him look menacing and she felt her heart race too much again. 

Tom sneered. He needed to make her comply and having a panic attack was not going to do that. He all but wished he could just dispose of her now, but he couldn’t know what it would do to his new form. And she was a Parselmouth. He had little idea what that connoted or meant but he was sure it was important. 

Besides, if the Girl Who Lived died then who knew what Dumbledore would do and he needed to be as far ahead of the fool as possible. 

He opened his mouth to cast a spell but froze. 

Music was coming distantly from somewhere in the Chamber. Tom remembered all too clearly what the song of the Phoenix sounded like. It was eerie as it echoed off the walls. And it made the hair on the back of his neck stand to attention. 

Dumbledore was near. 

He heaved the girl up by her robes and planted her on her feet. It took too much to get her to stand by herself and every second she refused to cooperate was time wasted. 

“Listen to me! Listen!” Tom jostled her but she was still crying. It was too much to deal with - Dumbledore was near if that stupid bird was anything to go by. 

Though it was interesting to Tom that it had taken this long for the man to get to them; it would be something to file away for another time. He could not be seen as he was.

The girl was still crying though - large angry wracking sobs were making her shudder in his grasp. On reflex, Tom’s hand struck her smartly across the face. There was enough force that it split her lip open. The blood was bright against her pale face and a few strands of her hair caught in the tacky substance. “Will you cooperate?” 

Halley swallowed and blinked back the tears. The slap recalled memories of danger and on instinct, she shut up quickly. But it was something she also knew how to deal with - this response was one she was familiar with. Be silent and keep your wits about you or you could end up in a very bad way. 

What was she going to do? Dumbledore was coming but she didn’t know how long it would take. And Riddle could kill her in a fraction of a second! 

She didn’t want to die. She didn’t want to rot in this miserable place or be buried somewhere next to her parents. She didn’t want the pity associated with her name. 

Halley Potter was not something to be pitied or manipulated. She wouldn’t be! 

“Yes,” she said firmly. 

Tom let her go and began conjuring everything he needed. Halley watched and despite herself was amazed at the magic on display. 

In the blink of an eye, a Basilisk was laying on the floor. The enormous serpent would have been a bright poisonous green, except it was charred and most of its scaled skin was black as tar. The sound of stone cracking made her yelp and she whipped her head around to see that Riddle was the cause of it. 

The diary was there too. It was just on the far side of the Basilisk and it was lying in a pool of ink in a manner that looked disturbingly like blood. The diary was also scorched into a near-unrecognisable heap of paper and leather. 

The picture was clear enough that Halley could figure it out, but then Riddle turned his - her - wand on her and she felt herself choke. “What are you doing?” 

“Imperio.” 

Everything felt hazy, but not the hazy that Halley was used to. This one was calm and after all the chaos and fear, she just wanted to stay there. 

She heard a voice - it was soothing and lulling. She could listen to it, for hours if she were allowed. She wanted to do what the voice said. It knew what it was doing. 

_ You want to stay calm. You will stay calm. You will tell everyone that you don’t remember what happened. You won’t look Dumbledore in the eye. You will say nothing about what really took place here.  _

She heard a caw, and she turned from Riddle’s constructed images to look up at where the sound had come from. And then things went black. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...I wasn't joking when I said it was canon divergent...
> 
> What did you think?


	3. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Somehow Tom Riddle found himself walking along the pavement of Vauxhall Bridge Road at 2.30 in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to say...thank you so much to those that have subscribed, commented and kudosed. I didn't think I'd get so much attention for this fic so soon because of the tags. Thank you, and I hope you enjoy this chapter. The next one will be up Friday the 5th.

* * *

Chapter 2: Chasin’ Shots of Nyquil

* * *

_1st September 1991_

“Potter, Halley.”

Halley breathed in quickly, letting out any tension she had. If she made a fool of herself now, it would be remembered throughout her entire school years and she didn’t want to have that memory hanging over her. This was her chance to develop, to learn, to try new things - things that she would never have been able to do under the Dursley’s roof.

She walked up the stairs, her head high, back straight. She knew they were whispering. She could hear it through the hall. _The Girl Who Lived_ ; she had researched herself while looking for books that would help her submerge into the Wizarding world without problems. Almost everything she’d read had been a lie. 

If she failed here, she’d get sent back to the Dursley’s, and she didn’t want that. Anger sparked through her as she remembered the names they’d called her, the punishments she’d received - her room!

The Wizarding world thought she was an entitled princess. She was Halley Potter, heir to the Ancient and Noble house of Potter so she must be living a wealthy life. 

Well, she hadn’t. And she was going to find out why people thought that she'd been anywhere other than with the Dursley’s. _She would start,_ she thought as her eyes trailed up to meet the periwinkle blue of her headmaster, _by asking him._

The hat was placed over her head and was so large it covered her eyes. 

“You are not what I was expecting,” the hat said. Halley controlled the small jump as she felt it speaking into her mind. She’d seen this being done of course - there were countless names before Potter - but it was different to feel the hat inside her mind. 

“Should I apologise?” she asked. 

It was odd, having a conversation in her mind. She didn’t know if she was doing this right but surely the hat would tell her if she wasn’t 

“I see how angry you are at our world and rightly so -”

Halley clamped her eyes shut as if the physical movement would stop the hat from being able to see anything else, but of course it wouldn’t. 

She was powerless. Again. 

Anger, hatred, rage. It was what she’d been used to feeling for the last eleven years, but the hat moved off her head slightly, as if he was trying to get away from it.

“I _am_ sorry you went through all of that. You shouldn’t have had to.”

 _Well, that was all well and good but what could he do now for her?_ “If you want to make it right, place me somewhere where I’ll succeed.” 

The hat paused at the familiarity of the words the girl had spoken. He should have been more careful placing Tom Riddle in Slytherin. The boy's need for power and control had only been fostered and encouraged there. Young Halley seemed to have similar attributes. 

“Perhaps Hufflepuff?” he suggested. He felt her stop for a moment, felt her curiosity as to why he would put her there, so he continued. “They are loyal, loving, kind and compassionate - things you have not felt very much of in your life.” 

Memories of a young woman called Hannah flashed through the girl's mind and the hat saw the happiness in those memories. He was glad to see that she'd had at least one relationship that gave her some support. But the bitterness was still there as her memories turned to Hannah walking away from her over and over again. 

But all through those thoughts, the girl had been pondering his suggestion and, in the end, she answered with a question of her own: “Could they help me protect myself? Can Hufflepuff teach me how to stop it from ever happening again?”

The hat paused for a moment. Would it? She would gain relationships that were loyal but only if she allowed herself to be open to them. Halley Potter was nothing but cautious as he could see. And she was far too closed off for them to have much impact on her.

“No.” 

“Can you read my mind?” she asked. 

“Somewhat. I skim your thoughts and prominent memories in order to make a decision that will benefit the students.” 

She was silent. But he could hear her very clearly. 

She gave him permission, as though he hadn’t already looked into her mind and determined exactly where she needed to go. Her thoughts were not quiet, and she was not particularly good at shielding them either. She was not a natural Occlumens, that was evident. 

The girl practically screamed her need for protection. To never be taken advantage of. 

The hat saw children like this more often than he would care to admit, and he sorted them without too much consideration. It was true that there was always some fight between where a child should be placed; the magic living in Hogwarts’ walls kept the hat sentient and the small, minuscule pieces of the founder’s souls gave him the ability to judge the young minds that sat under him. And the souls were always very sure that a child belonged to _their_ house. 

But the similarities were too stark to choose so haphazardly. Still, he couldn’t deny her request as much as Hufflepuff was screaming out to claim the child. 

“Slytherin,” he stated quietly. There was a moment as the sorting sunk in around the hall and then there was a typhoon of sound from Slytherin. They smirked at Gryffindor as if to say _of course we got Potter_ , but the hat knew that pretence wouldn’t last long. 

Then Halley Potter moved over to the one house that would give her what she wanted, but perhaps not what she needed. 

Later that night when the hat had been returned to Dumbledore’s office he frowned. “You must keep an eye on her, Dumbledore. The anger she felt was astounding.”

Dumbledore looked at him, there was no twinkle in his eye. It was a worrying sign. “Why place her in Slytherin then?” 

The hat huffed. “I couldn’t _not_! It was what she asked for. There is no doubt, the girl _will_ flourish in Slytherin, but you need to monitor what she flourishes in. There will not be _another_ Dark wizard under my watch.” 

Dumbledore sighed. He had watched her, seen her green eyes flash with anger as she looked at him and if what the hat was stating was true, she could very truly be someone to fear. 

Why did it have to be so difficult? He hadn’t imagined that placing her with her family - doing what was necessary for her protection - would cause her to turn so cold. Miss Potter did not seem to hold the same attributes her parents had at her age and it was worrying. 

Maybe he had made a grave mistake - maybe he should have listened to Minerva. But all was not lost. She wouldn’t turn Dark. He would fix this. 

*******

_15th July 1993_

Somehow, Tom Riddle found himself walking along the pavement of Vauxhall Bridge Road at 2.30 in the morning. The street he’d walked along almost every day in his childhood was unrecognisable, though he supposed that had more to do with the fact that the last time he had been there, he had nearly been killed by air raids. He wondered if they’d rebuilt the orphanage.

He followed the long road that had led to the orphanage almost by muscle memory, the street lamps illuminated the path ahead of him better than any had in 1940, but when he finally got to the foot of where it had been, the orphanage wasn’t there. 

Instead it was a large, fenced warehouse that seemed dilapidated. Well then, it seemed the orphanage hadn’t survived. Tom laughed. He hoped the Matron had died in agony. 

“Lookey here,” a voice came from behind him. “Ain’t you out past your bedtime.”

Tom turned and there was a man sneering at him. Tom raised his brow. “Walk away,” he said. 

“What?” The man laughed. “I don’t think you know who you’re messing with, boy.” The man took out a knife from inside his dirty coat pocket and flicked the switchblade out. It glinted under the sepia light. 

“What are you going to do with that?” Tom asked, amusement colouring his voice. 

“You’re obviously not from ‘round here. So here’s what’s goin’ to happen. You’re goin’ to give me your money and I won’ stab you. Seems fair, don’ it?” The man took a step forward.

Tom looked at the blade. He wasn’t sure what would happen to his body if he were to be stabbed; it was better safe than sorry. 

Besides, that meant that he would be able to work some of the stress out that had accumulated after making his way back out into the world without alerting Dumbledore or any other high ranking individual who could potentially remember his face. 

In an instant, his wand was out and the man had been disarmed. The man spluttered, eyes wide and looked between his hand and the blade now in Tom’s. 

“What was that?!”

Tom smiled and took one step towards the man, raising his wand so it was at his eye level. This Muggle really did have unfortunate luck, didn’t he?

“Oi! What do you think your doin’? Stay there!” The man pointed at Tom. 

Tom took another step forward in response. The next step had the man backed away quickly. 

“Listen, mate, let’s just stop all this. We’ll both pretend it never happened.” 

Tom laughed and the man paled. “I think not. But you gave me a warning so it’s only fair I do the same. I’m going to give you a ten second head start. Ready?” 

“What the fuck?!” 

“One. Two -” 

The man turned and ran, stupidly, straight down the long road leaving him visible to Tom. Just as the Muggle was about to join the main road, Tom shot a half-body body bind curse. It hit his legs and the man dropped like a log. 

Tom walked towards him, taking his time. He noted with a thrill that it felt good to feel the rush of blood and adrenaline pumping through him again. 

His body was fine. The Weasley girl’s soul nourished it enough for the illusion of life to hang onto Tom Riddle, but it wasn’t enough. 

He had not been aware of what he was creating when he made the diary a Horcrux, that much he was certain of. Horcruxes were dark magic and Riddle had thought he had the control needed to execute it. He thought he had all the pieces to make himself a God. And he did have them all. He just hadn’t understood the consequences of it. 

He didn’t realise that his consciousness would imprint so heavily on his soul until it - he - was in the diary and there was nothing but a blinding blackness surrounding him on all sides. 

There was no sustenance. No smell. No taste. No sight. No touch. Nothing but his conscious half-soul. And there was no measure of time. 

The seconds had blended into years, although he didn’t know which was a longer fragment of time in the diary. Soon - _how long had it been?_ \- it was too much. 

If it had happened to anyone else Riddle would have laughed and called them weak. 

The Muggle called out for help and Tom silenced him. He couldn’t let anyone interrupt this. Not now. He was finally feeling the thrill of power and it wasn’t all-consuming like it had been. 

He’d not had a body in the diary. Nothing tangible. So with every emotion, there was nothing but that emotion. And the inability to escape how present it was every moment he was conscious. Never had he felt such raw emotion. And without a body, Occlumency didn’t work. 

Soon - too late - Riddle forced himself into a state of semi-conscious before the pain of the blinding blackness turned him mad, and that was how he stayed until the girl had awoken him. 

_Property of Ginny Weasley_. 

With a casual mark of her quill, the galling words of the Weasley bitch had forced him back into pain.

The notes, the scribbles, the drops of ink. Every little flick of the quill the girl had made was followed by milliseconds of the blinding blackness that left Riddle wanting to slaughter her for the rush of panic it had created in him. 

And so he had. 

If he had known that this was what creating a Horcrux would do...

But he was out now. The diary was destroyed, its remains left with Dumbledore in a carefully crafted web and he would not need to consider it anymore. 

But there was something missing. Half-smells. Rumbles of hunger but no taste when food entered his mouth. The ghost of touch or only the memory of what sunlight would feel like when he was outside. 

Those moments struck a fear into his stomach that he did not ever remember feeling. And he _hated_ _it!_

Tom was upon the Muggle now. The man had been trying to claw his way towards the street and so Tom put a foot on his back. 

The Muggle collapsed under the unexpected weight for a moment before he was trying to trash with the top half of his body. To turn around so he might have more of a chance to live. 

It wouldn’t matter. 

Glancing around to see if there was anyone else about but considering how unsociable the hours were, it was unnecessary. He levitated the man and walked back on himself until he passed a small alleyway engulfed by darkness. He dropped the man and crucio’d him. The rush of euphoria was familiar as he held the dirty Muggle writhing underneath the Cruciatus. 

Once. Twice. Three times. 

Tom hummed in satisfaction at the sight before him; on the third cruciatus the man had bitten his tongue off and seemed to be choking on his own blood. He was struggling to turn from his back to his front in order to spit it out but Tom could see the tremors absolutely wracking his body. 

The curse had obviously been less powerful than usual if the man still had his wits about him. 

Tom raised his wand once more but the man’s body recoiled and suddenly he had vomited. Blood, bile and digested food came up and spilled over his mouth and then the Muggle really was choking. 

Tom saw the panic in his eyes as, even now, as he struggled to turn over. He supposed that the sheer will of surviving was a powerful thing; it was how he was standing there after all. 

But it wasn’t enough. Over the next few minutes, the Muggle drowned in his own bodily fluids and Tom watched on with a small smile. 

When the Muggle was finally dead, Tom turned and walked away. With a clearer head, he began planning. 

*******

Tom watched, disillusioned, as the ridiculously tiny thing in front of him followed the specific instructions of a lanky horse-faced shrill woman watching her, shaded from the sun inside what he imagined would be a cooler house, and he couldn't help himself.

It had taken some time to get to her. 

The first thing he’d done was ensure that he understood the workings of the current London. Not too much had changed in Wizarding society - at least nothing that he couldn’t figure out fairly quickly - but Muggle London had changed drastically and there was little Riddle hated more than unnecessarily stepping into a situation blindly. 

And as much as the Wizarding world hated to admit it, the coming and goings of the Political and sovereign society influenced their world enough. After all, Mudbloods made up an ever-growing population. 

And there was Dumbledore to deal with as well. _Albus Dumbledore._ How was he still alive and _still_ so much of a thorn in Riddle’s side? And how had Lord Voldemort not yet dealt with the man? 

Tom wished that the unlucky Muggle was still alive just so he could Crusio the life out of him again, but blinding anger wouldn’t do anything for him. Nor would creating a trail of bodies behind him. 

Dumbledore was not something he could do anything about here and now. What he needed to do was find the Potter girl and figure out how she had the ability to speak Parseltongue. 

In and amongst all the chaos of that night, he’d managed to place a tracking spell on Potter. Interestingly enough, the spell had tracked her to a road in Surrey, only to cut out upon her crossing some sort of boundary. 

That boundary was, apparently, the house she was living in. 

He’d expected it to be from the Fidelius Charm - after all, Dumbledore would do nothing except provide the utmost security for the Girl Who Lived - but the lock on the girl had led him straight into a Muggle neighbourhood and Riddle had to double-check his spell. Because she could not live here. Not in the open without even the Fidelius on her home. 

And she most certainly could not live life like a House Elf to filthy muggles! 

He looked at the tiny thing working tirelessly and was disgusted. Why would she allow anyone to treat her that way when she had magic at her fingertips and the name Potter to fall back on? If nothing else, her ability to speak to snakes marked her as powerful.

But Potters did not come from the Slytherin line so how was she a Parslemouth? 

Tom looked at Weasley’s wand. The wand was not the most compatible he’d ever used but it would do until he could procure another one. It was likely why the Cruciatus hadn’t been as effective the previous night. 

A spark struck him; Potter’s wand had all but trilled in his fingers as he’d held it. The wand seemed familiar to him, like a scent on the breeze that you couldn’t quite place. Why was her wand so compatible with him? 

It was another question to add to the growing list and Riddle found himself clenching his teeth in frustration. There was too much coincidence surrounding the girl and he didn’t like it. It reeked too strongly of fate and he was not one to put stock in Divination. 

No. There was a reason for what was happening, and he would find out. The old-fashioned way if need be. 

Tom cancelled the disillusionment and smiled down at the girl. "My my, isn't this a surprise Miss Potter." 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thank you to WithPatienceComesPeace, JujuGentle and CleverMird for beta-ing this chapter. You guys are all awesome! 
> 
> Along the way, something odd happened with the chapter and I feel like there are mistakes in it, even though I've read through it SO many times, but those are mine.


	4. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There had been a lullaby voice in her head all throughout summer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, I'm so sorry this is two days late. I was going to upload it after work on Friday but my housemate decided to build a fort which then somehow turned into a house party...I got very drunk and the next day I had to go out all day. It has been quite a weekend. I'm going to have to figure out this update schedule for this, so it may change over the next couple of weeks. But I'll let you know before I change it. 
> 
> Now...this chapter is not nice. It's just a whole chapter of not nice things. Good luck.

* * *

Chapter 3: You’ve got to reach a little more. More. More.

* * *

There had been a lullaby voice in her head all throughout summer. It had started from the moment she’d woken up in the Infirmary and she no longer wanted anything to do with it. The lullaby voice seemed to balance her mind on a delicate string of calm, pliant and aware and it remained steady in her brain no matter how much she tried to overcome it. 

The only time she had felt it nearly fade away was after she had woken up with Madame Pomfrey tending to a head wound. The voice had been dull. She could almost tell the matron what had happened to her in the Chamber. But as soon as Dumbeldore came into the room the dullness became sharp and she couldn’t say anything she wanted. 

“What happened, my girl?” he asked. 

“I don’t know,” she seemed to say. 

She left the infirmary after a plethora of tests on her mind, and at some point Dumbledore had called her into his office where Professor Snape, a distraught Mrs Weasley and a tear-stained Mr Weasley sat. 

There were conversations and shouting and crying and anger and questions. But every time that question was asked, all Halley could say was “I don’t know.” 

“You’re a selfish little girl,” the Weasley Matriarch said to her as she cried into an old handkerchief. There was a hiss of reproach from her husband but the woman continued. “Our child is _dead_ and you won’t say anything! We can’t even bury her!” 

“I can’t remember,” she said once again. The woman looked like she was going to slap Halley but Professor Snape stepped in front of her. 

“As much as you may fail to acknowledge, Mrs Weasley, the girl doesn’t know anything. Dumbledore has informed you that somehow her memory has been tampered with,” he said with an air of disdain at her unwillingness to listen. 

Why Halley was even let in the room with the heads of the Weasley family she did not know. It was possible that Dumbeldore thought some form of guilt would trigger a memory - she wouldn’t put it past him - but if her memory truly had been tampered with then there was literally nothing she could do about it. 

Eventually she had to leave the castle and when she did the questions stopped. The voice became dull once again but the calm did not go away. And hidden under it seemed to be all of the emotions she usually felt when she was back at the Dursleys. 

The hate was gone; it was almost like the string of calm cut through any emotion that raised to the surface of her mind just a second before the emotion would try and take hold. 

It was an unsettling experience and Halley felt out of control. She’d always had her hate, even if she hadn’t wanted to acknowledge that it was there. There had always been that little bit of something at the bottom of her stomach that drove her when times at the Dursley’s got too bad or a situation was particularly enraging. Like the one she was in now. 

But just because she knew the hate was gone - and now by extension knew it had always been there - didn’t mean she could do anything about it. 

And the Dursley’s were particularly vindictive that summer. 

There was a particularly nasty bruise just under her ribs on her back where Vernon had pushed her against the table because she was in his way. Her ribs weren’t cracked, not from what she had been able to feel, but the bruise was particularly nasty. Petunia had given her a packet of frozen peas for twenty minutes. It was just enough time for the family to finish breakfast before Halley needed to clean up. 

That had been a couple of days ago and she was still feeling the dull pain of the bruised tissue as she bent down on the driveway in order to get rid of the weeds that had started cropping up again. 

The task was monotonous and did little to take her mind off the pain. And the hot sun was beating down on her making the pavement almost too hot for her knees and hands to touch. But at least it wasn’t hard. 

They had eased up on the truly physically difficult things once she had started Hogwarts. While she couldn’t be sure, Halley suspected they had stopped because it would be difficult to explain to Wizards why a child came back to school after the summer holidays with broken bones and bruised welts. 

A shadow crossed in front of her and before Halley could recognise what was happening a voice rang out in the near silence of the summer’s day. "My my, isn't this a surprise Miss Potter."

The voice was familiar to her. Halley looked up to see a cruel smile on the face of Tom Riddle and she froze still, hand on a weed she’d been attempting to pull out. 

She hadn’t forgotten what had happened. She didn’t think that anything could make her forget. But what had happened seemed almost like a dream. A mirage concocted by the heat of working outdoors every day in the blazing sun. 

“Riddle,” she whispered. 

“Have you been well?” he asked. 

Halley turned to glance behind her. Petunia wasn’t there but Halley knew she would be back sooner or later and while she did not like her aunt, she didn’t necessarily want her to die - if for no other reason than not knowing where she would live. It was better the devil you knew after all. 

“It’s rude to keep people waiting, you know,” Riddle drawled out.

Halley snapped her attention back to him. There was a glint in his eye that hadn’t been there in the Chamber. Something that made him seem slightly more feral than he had in the dark green. She didn’t like it. 

This was an unknown; too many variables were at play here that she didn’t know how to interpret and so Halley felt herself fall into the role of subservience. She lowered her eyes and nodded. “Yes.”

“Good.” He took out his - Weasley’s - wand and began to cast something. The movements were unfamiliar and he was casting wordlessly. Nothing _seemed_ to happen but there was a sudden artificial silence around them. Like they were in a bubble. 

Halley looked towards the house and froze when Petunia stared back at her for a moment. Halley was sure the woman would come surging out any moment but instead she just looked down. 

Whatever the spell had done made it so that Riddle could talk to her without Petunia noticing him. 

Halley swallowed at the power he’d displayed in one simple movement and she firmly kept hold of the gardening fork she had. 

It wouldn’t do much but the mere feel of it in her hand...just in case...it gave her a false sense of reassurance. 

“Now, look at me.” 

Halley frowned but looked up at him. The angle made her neck ache and the sun was almost directly shining on his face, making it almost hard to look at him. 

“There are some things that I need you to tell me. Try to stay truthful because I’ll know if you’re lying, ok?” 

“Ok,” she said. 

“What did you tell Dumbeldore about the Chamber?” 

“I told him that I didn’t remember what happened?” 

“And he believed you?” 

Halley nodded. “I told him bits and pieces - seeing Weasley -” her voice hitched. “Seeing Weasley on the ground. Hearing the Basilisk - hearing Fawks.” 

“And the girl?” 

Halley swallowed back the reflex to throw up as she remembered the sound and the image of the snake swallowing her. “She wasn’t there when I arrived.” 

She felt the slightest touch of pressure in her head from the angle her neck was craning at but she didn’t dare move. 

Riddle hummed like he didn’t believe her but he didn’t say anything to suggest he didn’t. “Did you look him in the eyes when you told him all of this?” 

“I - no. I couldn’t.” 

“Well done,” he said. It almost seemed like he was amused and Halley bit her lip as a way to ignore the anger burning. 

“Why are you here?” he asked. 

“What?” 

“Why are you living with Muggles instead of with one of the many cousins the Potters have - or has all your family died out?” he asked casually. 

Halley clenched her teeth and swallowed. “The Dursley’s are family.” It hurt to say that. She had never said it out loud before and she never wanted to again. But she couldn’t lie to Riddle and they were technically her family. 

“Interesting,” Riddle said. “Who knows you live here?” 

Why would he want to know that? What did this line of questioning have to do with anything? “I don’t know -” and then remembering the letter she’d gotten before her first year, Halley added bitterly - “the school. Dumbledore. Snape. McGonagall.”

Other than Parkinson - and that had been a necessary move - she’d made sure to never mention it around her Housemates, no matter how many rumours Malfoy spread or how often Greengrass looked at her suspiciously when holidays came around. 

Riddle suddenly laughed. Halley was struck by how full and rich it sounded and suddenly she understood why Weasley had fallen prey to Riddle so easily. She hadn’t known it was even a thought - except maybe at the back of her mind when Mrs Weasley had been cursing her very existence, the thought had slipped out in a whisper. _Maybe if Weasley hadn’t been so weak…_

But If Riddle was able to sound so endearing with just a laugh then what hope did Weasley have? Especially if she’d never been around people who played pretend so well. 

“The great Albus Dumbledore has a child at the mercy of Muggles, living like a House Elf and so trusting. He has everyone fooled.”

“I don’t trust him,” Halley said. 

“What was that?” Riddle asked, raising a dark brow. The smile was still there - still half in a laugh but now it seemed he was paying more attention to her. 

Halley said nothing. But already she’d said too much and she knew Riddle had heard. She was well aware that on some level the headmaster was trying to craft her into something...some sort of martyr and she hated being manipulated by him. But it was clear to see that Riddle held some sort of vendetta against Dumbledore and Halley knew she would hate being manipulated by him as well. 

“Well then, Halley Potter, one last thing. I’m going to need you to come with me.”

“What?” 

“As much as I’m sure you’ll disagree, I don’t trust you to not go running to someone once the school year starts up again. So I’m going to need an Unbreakable Vow from you.” 

Halley wracked her brain trying to remember if she’d come across that name before and she couldn’t. Panic struck her as Riddle reached down and clasped her arm in his before yanking her up. 

“Wait!” she called out, but before she could say anything else he spun. 

A loud crack filled her ears and the world was spinning for what felt like an eternity and a moment all in one. Everything felt tight and she couldn’t breathe. Bands pressed into her chest and into her head, straining her eyes and pushing her ear-drums deeper into her skull.

When everything finally stopped Halley blinked and recognised Knockturn Alley. For a second everything was fine, but then her stomach lurched and she was throwing up bile. 

Riddle waited for a moment before handing her something to wipe her face and then started dragging her down an alleyway. 

“What are you doing?” she cried out but he didn’t answer. 

Instead he pulled her until she was face to face with a woman who...Halley was sure this was the Wizarding equivalent of a prostitute. The woman looked a bit haggard with a heavily painted face and robes that were both incredibly tight and much shorter than the normal ones found in polite society. 

“Who’re you?” the woman asked, then looked at Halley. “Naw! I don’t do tha’.” 

Halley didn’t want to know what ‘that’ was or how many children were brought down to these alleyways to do it. Actually, the thought of it was making her feel sick. 

“Imperio,” Riddle called out. “Cast the Unbreakable Vow.” 

The woman took on a glazed look and Halley felt the startling realisation that this was the same spell Riddle had used on her. Everything had happened too quickly and in her anxiety-ridden state, Halley hadn’t realised it was an Unforgivable that had been placed on her. 

Suddenly everything made sense. 

She didn't have time to process. Instead, she was face-to-torso with Riddle and he was once again clasping her hand. 

“I’m going to explain this quickly. The Unbreakable Vow is a spell that binds the two contractors together. The vow is cast and if broken, results in death.”

“Why are you telling me this?” she whispered, her voice cracking under the stress and the pain throbbing in her ribs. 

“You can either do it willingly or I will imperio you to do it. Either way, you’re going to make the Vow.” 

Halley wanted to throw up again but he was clutching her wrist so tightly she was worried that she would break it if she moved. The woman was still standing there with her wand drawn. 

Almost imperceptibly, Halley nodded and Riddle turned their joined wrists so they were parallel to the tight walls of the alley. Immediately, a small thin silver chain wrapped itself around their wrists. 

“Will you, Halley Potter, vow to keep silent about my return?” 

Halley could feel the magic coil around her and it made her shiver. Without knowing why, she responded in kind, battling the magic but it did very little. Instead, she whispered out a small “yes.”

“Will you vow to remain silent about what occurred in the Chamber of Secrets?” 

“Yes.” 

“And will you vow to not interfere with any plans I make, regardless of requests made of you from others?”

Halley frowned at the ambiguousness of the vow. What did he have planned? And why would she need to interfere with it? 

She looked away. It wouldn’t matter either way. Riddle would make her agree one way or another and she would prefer to not have the fuzzy haze over her when she agreed. 

“Yes.” 

“Good.”

Halley felt the magic start to recoil and held on. Again, without knowing what drove her, she pushed up against the magic. “Do you, Tom Riddle, vow to teach me everything you know?” 

Riddle’s eyes locked onto hers, staring harshly at her and Halley’s breath hitched. She didn’t know what would happen if refused - she didn’t know anything. And she supposed that was why she had asked that question. She could not be in a world where men used her as a pawn. She needed to know all the rules just so she could stay out of this game. 

Riddle still hadn’t said anything and she waited with bated breath. Eventually he spoke. 

“I, Tom Riddle, vow to provide all magical knowledge I know.”

“Do you vow to _teach_ me all the magical knowledge you know?” she insisted. Riddle snarled. 

“Yes,” he bit out. 

The fourth and final silver strand coiled around them and as soon as it was in place Riddle removed his grip from hers. He then turned to the woman and with a violent slash, sent an Avada her way. The woman crumpled to the ground. 

The green light momentarily illuminated the alleyway and Halley slapped a hand over her mouth to catch the cry of horror. That was the same flash of colour she’d had in her nightmares. And that woman was dead. 

_What had she just done?_

*******

“You think you can run off?” Vernon asked. He was panting from range and the amount of force he’d put into hitting her with the belt. 

Halley said nothing. She had perfected this routine down to figuring out how many hits she would get. They were all in the same area too, between her thighs and chest. The areas that no-one would need to see. 

But she hadn’t had a beating for more than two years, not like this anyway. Petunia had whacked her on the back with a pan that was slightly too hot before she had left for her first year of Hogwarts because she had been sick and had accidentally dropped the food in the pan. 

Then Vernon had pushed her face into the food. “We have to train them, Petunia,” he’d said. 

The tip of her nose had been burnt but they had said it was from Halley being out in the sun for too long. People believed that one; she was always out in the front or back garden during the summer doing the garden without a sun hat. 

It had been so long and she had stupidly let herself relax some at Hogwarts. Now she was feeling the effects of letting her resistance fall. 

“You think we’re stupid, don’t you? Like we wouldn’t notice you disappear!” 

Vernon hit her again, the belt buckle cutting through her clothes and Halley bit back a scream. She didn’t hear the last thud, nor did she feel herself hit the ground. There was too much pain stimulating her senses to be able to comprehend that she’d hit her head on the way down. 

But she wouldn’t scream. She wouldn’t cry. Not for him. 

“Were you off with some boy? You little slut!” He hit her again. “Just like your mum.”

Halley said nothing. He would stop eventually. He’d have to. 

This was Riddle’s fault, she knew as black spots appeared from the pain. Riddle had left her in Knockturn Alley with no way of getting back. She’d had to figure out how to get from London to Surrey and the journey had taken her hours. 

By the time she had gotten back, it was dark. Petunia had immediately grabbed hold of her by her hair and had dragged her to the cupboard, pushing her inside and banging Halley’s head against the beams hard in the process. Promises of what Vernon would do to her the next day were given and now, Halley was feeling them. 

“Where did you go?!” he asked. 

Cradling herself, Halley coughed and blood splattered onto the floor. That wasn’t good. 

“Where did you go?!” Vernon shouted again. 

What could she say? She couldn’t say anything about Riddle or magic, that would just make him angrier. But she couldn’t agree with him either. She didn’t want to think that he would assault her like that, but Vernon Dursley was unstable and not above it. 

Nothing had happened yet and if she could just stay out of their way until she was seventeen, she would be able to leave and nothing could stop her. 

So she collapsed, pretending to have fainted. 

It wasn’t too far from the truth; she was on the edge of blacking out. But she wouldn’t let herself until she knew he was gone. Then there was a knock on the door. 

“Vernon!” she heard Petunia squeak with worry. Another knock sounded. 

“Put her in the cupboard!” he said angrily. 

Halley felt herself being dragged a few feet, be dumped on the ground and then heard the cupboard open. She was stuffed in and the door was slammed shut. 

Sounds were muffled and it was too much effort to try and listen to who was at the door. It wouldn’t make a difference anyway. Nothing would. 

Halley blinked and felt something burn her eye. On instinct, she blinked rapidly but her eyes just kept burning. She lifted her hand to rub at it and a liquid coated her palm. At first, she thought they were tears, that she was crying without even realising it, but the liquid was too thick. 

_Oh._ She was bleeding. 

She tried to wipe the blood away, keeping her eyes shut so that it wouldn’t fall into them again but her hand did very little. 

The only thing that she knew was in the cupboard that would help was a small blanket that was supposed to keep her warm. She pulled at it and as she did so, Halley gasped. 

The pain grew intense. Burning icy hot and immediately making her want to throw up. 

Instinctually, she turned to her side as the vomit came up, but she swallowed it before she could let it out. The taste was bitter and acidic and it left her mouth fuzzy, but it was better for her to swallow it than lie in her own sick. She had learnt that the hard way. 

Evidently, it seemed that the last burning pain was too much for her brain to handle because from one moment to the next, Halley was awake and then she was in blissful blackness. 

The last thing she remembered was Riddle. 

When she came to, the pain seemed more manageable. 

Magic, Halley was coming to understand, was not something that was wholly controllable. She knew she’d had bursts of accidental magic as a child before she’d learnt to control it, but she hadn’t realised how much it acted on its own. 

The beatings she’d received had hurt the next day, and the day after that, but a week later, Halley felt no pain. There were still marks - those seemed to be taking the normal amount of time to fade - but there was no pain. 

And she was sure that Vernon had broken a rib. 

The Dursleys kept her in the cupboard under the stairs for the rest of June and half of July. Maybe they had been hoping to starve her to death. If that were the case, Halley wished that they would just kill her. It was kinder. 

Hunger was a different kind of pain. But it became scary once you stopped feeling it. Then something was very wrong. 

They fed her scraps and gave her thimbles of water every few hours so she knew she wasn’t going to die in the cupboard. But as she starved in the dark cramped space of what had been her bedroom from the first 12 years of her life, Halley contemplated what it would be like for the Dursleys to be on the other end of it. 

How would it feel to starve Vernon? To make a dent in Petunia with her cast iron skillet? To beat them until they were black and blue. Isolate them from everything and everyone. 

What would it feel like to wring her hands around their necks or strangle Vernon with the belt, hole by hole until he turned that ugly magenta for the last time? 

Halley turned over trying to alleviate the cramp in her leg. 

Those weren’t the first time she’d had those fantasies and she doubted it would be the last. The first time she’d wondered though, she had burst into tears. Halley had only been seven and the thought of putting cleaning product in Petunia’s tea had seemed so easy. 

But she had felt so guilty. She had wondered if she was a bad person like they had said. If she deserved all the punishments. 

Now...well now they were thoughts to pass the time. She felt neither here nor there about them. She wouldn’t kill the Dursleys. That wouldn’t make her much better than them. 

But fantasizing? There wasn’t any harm in that. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thank you to JujuGentle for reading through this chapter and the feedback you provided :). Also very big thank yous to WithPatienceComesPeace, and CleverMird for beta-ing this chapter. Your comments always make my work 10x better.


	5. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lysander Nott was staring at Tom, his already pale face now wholly ashen. Lips drawn into a thin line and eyebrows furrowed. He looked like he’d seen a ghost, though Tom couldn’t say he blamed the man. It was not every day that your Lord rose from the dead in his prime form after all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Helloo. Again, I am a day late but I don't have a job anymore so I was living it up yesterday as a congratulations to me for quitting. It was a poorly-suited job for me. We don't need to discuss it. I hope you enjoy this chapter. It's very Tom focused. 
> 
> As usual, a very big thank you to my Beta readers for looking through this and giving me feedback to improve. I don't know what I would do without you guys.

* * *

Chapter 4: So don’t ask that question here

* * *

Lysander Nott was staring at Tom, his already pale face now wholly ashen. Lips drawn into a thin line and eyebrows furrowed. He looked like he’d seen a ghost, though Tom couldn’t say he blamed the man. It was not every day that your Lord rose from the dead in his prime form after all. 

“My Lord,” he whispered. 

Tom looked up at the man. He had grown older. 

Everything about Lysander was now wiry where he had been in his prime. Hair that had been thick and brown was silver and thinning. Lines ran across his face, above his brow and under his eyes making him look tired and dull and, though he had carried himself with restrained power, his body still looked like it could be snapped in two if Tom exerted just a little pressure on the bones. 

It was surprising how much that had taken him aback. Tom was not sentimental, nor was he stupid. Men grew old as was the design placed upon them. But he hadn’t expected Lysander to look as old as he had. The man had been three years his senior in Hogwarts, and the last he’d seen of him had been as he was pledging himself to Tom. 

Was this what it was to grow old? Tom was not impressed. “Lysander,” he said with a smile. “How have you been keeping yourself?”

“Well, My Lord,” he choked out. Lysander cleared his throat once, and then again. When that didn’t work, he walked over to a well-stocked cabinet and pulled out a bottle of Ogden’s finest. He poured himself a generous helping and drank the thing in one go. 

Tom hummed to himself. He was not usually so willing to let indulgences like that pass, but the man had just had a bit of a shock, and if the firewhisky was going to get him past it, then Tom would allow it this time. 

The firewhisky seemed to shake Lysander out of his stupor and colour came back into his cheeks. “May I ask, My Lord, how are you -”

“Alive?” Tom asked. He was having far too much fun with this, even if it was just a shadow of the amusement he was used to feeling.

“A lovely young girl lent me her soul.” 

“Her soul?” 

Tom noted the slight hitch in his voice. It almost passed him by, but something about it made him pause. Lysander had never been a man that would shy away from the Dark Arts, despite his placement in Hogwarts. It had been integral to his character, and the reason Tom had respected the man. But the hitch in his voice raised a concern with Tom. 

“Yes. If you ask me, she was wasting it.” 

Lysander considered this and then took another gulp of the drink in his hand, finishing off the beverage. “Of course. I am glad you were able to adapt my research so thoroughly.”

Tom narrowed his eyes.

This was the reason he had come to Lysander. The man’s obsession with Soul Magic had been what had tempered his anger when Slughorn had given him the barest bones of information. Lysander, who had been out of Hogwarts and away from the eyes of Dumbledore, had been happy to explain the theoretical underpinnings of what would have eventually come to be his Horcrux creation. 

“Your assistance was most helpful. Though I am going to need it again.”

“Whatever you need,” Lysander said.

Tom smiled at the man who had always been willing to devote his research to the cause. It was an admirable trait, and one that Tom had made use of on more than one occasion it seemed.

But he wasn’t sure he could trust Lysander with the truth of his…resurrection. The Tom standing before him was not the Voldemort that Lysander had dealt with in the past. It was a disadvantage that Tom had not had to contend with yet; it was not a problem being stuck at seventeen because he’d had enough knowledge to implement his plan.

But now?

“For now I need a new wand and a base.” 

*******

Lysander was accommodating, but then Tom expected nothing less of the man. Despite being sorted into Ravenclaw, Lysander was a thorough-bred Pureblood and as such, was trained to respect his superiors. 

All within the first week and a half of Tom’s arrival, Lysander had provided him with his own wing in the manor, instructed the House Elves to follow his orders, suitably replaced his wand - though his own would have been preferable, Tom did not expect Lysander to know where to find it, nor would it be a good idea to parade around Wizarding London with Voldemort’s wand. Potter’s would have also been acceptable; he had been able to yield it like it was his own, but again, there were problems with commandeering hers. 

Lysander’s grandson Theodore had also been given explicit instructions that the guest in the West Wing was not to be disturbed, nor to be discussed with his friends. Theodore had looked at the man solemnly and then nodded before quietly asking to be excused. 

Tom approved of the boy’s obedience. 

Unfortunately, the man had also gotten over his shock and was far too curious for the level of intelligence he had. 

“My Lord, how did you survive the spell?” he asked one evening.

Tom looked up from the tome in his hand. The book was one of many Lysander had on wandlore, and it was the very ease in which he’d used Potter’s wand that left him with questions. The familiar trill of what he assumed was the wand’s core had been powerful, but as far as he knew, a wand was loyal to its Wizard until won or the Wizard died. 

Regardless, Wandmaking and its ilk was not a familiar topic to Tom. It was possible he would need to make a trip to Olivander’s soon. 

Tom levelled a look at Lysander. “How forward,” he said.

“There was much speculation as to what occurred and, forgive me, but _love_ was not what caused the Avada to rebound,” Lysander replied with a sneer. 

_Love?_ Was that what Dumbledore had preached? How predictable. 

But that was not the issue to deal with at that moment. Tom knew that he had discussed the theory of Horcruxes with Lord Nott before his other self had made the diary. The memories of it were clear in his mind in and among the useless drabble from the chit. But how much had he discussed with Lysander after the diary had been made? 

That was a gamble, and Tom hated those. 

There was a small likelihood that Voldemort had discussed his plans with Lysander if only to understand how stable the Horcruxes would be. Seven was a magical number, but Tom remembered his other self running the calculation as to the impact of creating seven distinct Horcruxes. At the time, the numbers had not looked good, but he had no way of knowing how that had changed. 

It also did not fail to escape Tom that he was all but starting out from scratch. He had made it his business to know exactly what Voldemort had been involved in, the plans he had carried out and those that had followed him in the last 20 years and Tom was not overly impressed. 

Voldemort’s work was sloppy and haphazard. Other than the Malfoys, the Notts and the Rowles there was little influence in the Ministry or Hogwarts. Voldemort had accrued the forces of halfbreeds and non-human creatures for his war, and while that had some impact, the falling out was clear.

However, those who had followed Voldemort were those who were loyal and insane. And Tom was now beyond caring about blood purity. He wanted power. After all, Mudbloods had their uses and Blood Traitors were often from powerful families. The Prewetts and Dumbledore could attest to that. 

And those followers were not going to be happy about the change in regime.

So, perhaps giving Nott the information he was so desperate for would begin a new path to victory. Brute force had its uses, but intelligence? That was the true way to win a war. 

“A Horcrux,” Tom said. 

Lysander’s eyes went wide. Nearly bugging out of his head. It was unattractive. 

“A Horcrux,” he whispered almost reverently. “My Lord, that is...astounding. We talked about it, of course, the theory was applicable, but I thought it wouldn’t be possible to stabilise the exchange without a Philosopher’s Stone.” 

Tom’s interest piqued. The Weasley girl had said something about Voldemort going after the Philosopher’s Stone in Potter’s first year. Had that been why?

“The implications of this - you truly are the greatest mind, my Lord.” Lysander started rambling on, talking about theorems, equations and more. Tom stopped listening because he had not found or created a Philosopher’s Stone. So he had not stabilised the exchange. 

Although he couldn’t be sure, Tom strongly suspected that his other self had not only failed to stabilise the formula to separate souls evenly, but that the cost had been his sanity. 

If that were the case, then he, as the first Horcrux, had the largest portion of Voldemort’s soul. He was the most stable. He was the most powerful. 

_Fucking Circe!_ Voldemort had made Horcruxes without considering the effect on his mind and now - somewhere out there - there was a half lucid, wholly erratic psychopath who would very likely be unhappy to have the sentient part of his soul up and about with a will of its own. 

“...my Lord?” 

“What?” he snapped. 

“I’m sorry. But you are not the original Voldemort, are you?” Lysander asked. 

Tom’s wand was in his hand and at the man’s throat and Lysander’s hand was raised in surrender just as quickly. “You dare question me?” Tom snarled. 

“No, my Lord. I am impressed - even more so. You, not Voldemort, have managed to use the soul of another to raise yourself once more without an array or a circle or Runes.” 

Anger surged through Tom. Who was he to cast judgement on him? _“_ Legilimens _,”_ he spoke. There was a moment of resistance that came with the defences drilled into children of that era, but Lysander’s barriers were lowered almost immediately. There was no need for force, but Tom added a little extra push as he rummaged around. 

It wasn’t easy to lie under the spell, but there had been people known to hide the truth. 

Lysander was telling the truth. There was more awe and intrigue than anything malicious, and fairly close to the surface was his concern for Tom and the stability of the process and a genuine interest in seeing how Tom would progress. 

But what interested Tom the most were the thoughts linked to memory. 

Lysander had seen Voldemort at various stages of his rise to power, but it was the months leading up to his defeat that Lysander was most invested in Tom seeing. Voldemort had a gleam in his eye that suggested an instability that was dangerous to his self-preservation. He was goading one of the Lestrange brothers, taunting him with something before throwing the Cruciatus at him. 

There was power behind the spell, sheer raw power that came from Tom’s magical core, but it was the taunting. Lysander despised the blatant display of power for the sake of entertainment. Magic was to be used in pursuit of furthering oneself and somehow, he wasn’t sure how, but somehow Lord Voldemort was corrupting it. 

Tom released Lysander from the spell. The man fell back, gasping for air, his face pinched at the pain resonating in his mind. 

“You have contempt for me,” Tom said. 

“Not you, my Lord. I was aware of Voldemort’s quest for immortality; it was what led me to serve him so faithfully. But -” Lysander cut himself off out of worry about his next words. 

“Speak,” Tom said. 

Lysander nodded. “To search for immortality at the cost of one’s sanity can be...hazardous at best. Forgive me, my Lord, but I believe there is nothing worse than blind ambition.” 

Lysander stood still, very much like an animal about to be slaughtered, as he waited for Tom to speak. It didn’t take very long, but those thirty seconds were some of the tensest Lysander had experienced in some time. 

“Tell me then, how do you deem me different?” 

“Taking on a soul is different from separating it. You are, if I am correct, half of his soul?” Tom said nothing. “The magic, the _intention alone_ to take that girl’s soul...it is formidable. I wish only to provide my assistance in the hopes that I may learn _something_.” 

“And what if I give you nothing?” Tom asked, wand still pressed into the base of Lysander’s neck. 

“Studying and understanding the workings of Soul Magic has been my life’s work. Merely observing a Horcrux is valuable knowledge, but I am also able to offer support if something goes wrong.”

“Wrong?” Tom asked, ice in his tone. 

“I believe that Voldemort created at least five Horcruxes. He didn’t confide in me, but the fact that he became more unhinged over the years suggests that more than three were created. There is little research on a living Horcrux and even less on what would happen if the two of you were to interact. But my research has provided me with evidence to suggest that the energy of souls can be harvested and you have proved it, my Lord. 

“If I were able to synthesise the right equation, you could, in theory, reclaim enough of your soul that you become the Prime, and Voldemort the Horcrux.” 

Tom looked at him. That certainly had its advantages. And he would need to deal with Voldemort anyway. He would resurface and Tom was sure Voldemort would try to kill him. 

That was not acceptable. 

“How?” Tom asked. 

“It’s untested. _But_ a combination of runes, alchemy and quantum physics.”

“Muggle science?” Tom all but scoffed but images of bombs and sirens and _destruction_ came to mind. What was a wand to incendiary weapons such as those? 

“Yes. Primitive and useless as Muggles are, unable to perform magic, their science has come a long way since 1943.” 

Tom kept his wand at Lysander’s throat for another minute as he considered the possibilities. But even as he kept it there, he knew the man would have his uses. It would be stupid to kill him. 

But it was equally as stupid to leave him unchecked. 

“If you are anxious, my Lord, I am not opposed to an Unbreakable Vow.” 

Tom looked at him and finally released the wand from his neck. Yes, Lysander was almost too intelligent for his own good. 

*******

Somehow two months had passed and Lysander was proving himself to be useful to Tom. The man had managed to create a list of all the names of sympathisers or known Death Eaters who were in Azkaban, acquitted or dead. 

It was a substantial list. Most of the names meant little to Tom, having come after being made into a Horcrux, but some were as familiar to him as the memories of his Common Room. 

Some, like the Lestranges or the Blacks wouldn’t be swayed; too much madness and exposure to dark magic. It was very likely that Tom would be required to dispose of them at some point or another. But some could be. 

And better still, some he could draw in anew. That was exciting. Although he hadn’t made a plan yet, Tom almost tingled at the feeling of seducing light or grey families to his side. 

There was, however, the small problem of Halley Potter. He had almost killed the girl in the alley. It had been all he could do to target that anger towards the whore, because if Potter had been killed then at the very least, life would have become incredibly difficult for Tom to maneuverer the way he was planning to. 

But at the time, and still two months later, he had half a mind to Crucio her. 

She was another one that was too stupidly clever. He had seen her eyes, seen the confusion when he’d begun the Unbreakable Vow. For all her pretending in the Chamber - and who better to recognise the hidden panic under a cool gaze than Tom - she still knew so little about her birthright. She was so childishly naive about magic. Though it wasn’t surprising considering who they had her living with. 

Tom almost pitied her for all the ignorance she possessed because of the Muggles she lived with. 

Still, she had an instinctual understanding of magic it seemed; how else would she have known how to latch onto the magic surrounding the Vow and tie him to her own? How else could she have overridden his own intent. 

Though he had also underestimated her. He hadn’t expected a child to react so instinctively to the magic as she had. It was why he’d thought to use the Vow in the first place. 

He wasn’t going to underestimate her again. Tom felt himself grip his wand in anticipation, but there was no whore to kill this time, only Lysander. It would do no good to allow himself to become overcome with anger. He was above that. 

But it was harder to control now. That was going to be a problem. Tom gritted his teeth and made note of that for another day. He would need to begin working on his Occlumency once more. 

Still. For all that Halley Potter could have sworn him to, this would work in his favour. After all, he was required by magic to teach her all he knew, wasn’t he? And what was better than corrupting Dumbeldore’s Chosen One?

There were even spells that he would need to teach her that required her to be under excruciating pain. He could punish her for her audacity, of course, but the magic he would teach her, the knowledge that he was moulding the one that had disposed of Voldemort in Tom’s own image was enough to make him chuckle darkly. 

“Care to share what you’ve found so amusing, my Lord?” Lysander asked. He was more familiar with Tom now. Two months of offering up one’s home and themselves for service would do that. But Lysander still trod carefully. 

Tom Riddle, no matter the version, was not a man to mess with. 

“I was thinking about Miss Potter,” was all he said. 

Lysander sat back in his chair and looked at the young Horcrux in front of him. He was still in awe, still so dangerously curious about the being sitting in the chair opposite him. There was so much potential there, questions Lysander had been asking himself for decades. 

What was in the soul? How could it be transferred? Who were you if you took on the soul of another? 

And there was the potential to answer those questions right in front of him. Lysander was not fond of this opportunity ending prematurely because of a little girl who constantly brought on too much trouble. 

“Have you decided on a course of action for her?” he asked. 

Tom chuckled again. “I believe so. I’ll be monitoring her,” he said. 

“Only monitor?” Lysander asked carefully. 

“Dumbledore would be driven to act out if I were to take away his pawn,” Tom said. Then he smiled. “What I find more fascinating is that she seems so unwilling to be made a pawn.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“I don’t know many Slytherins willing to follow Dumbledore’s regime, do you?” 

Lysander refrained from stating that Severus Snape was indeed now tucked safely under Dumbledore’s thumb as that was redundant. But her house placement didn’t necessarily determine her loyalties. Swayed them thoroughly, yes; he remembered his own House and the things that happened in the halls that were sworn to secrecy, even against his cousins. 

“But surely...surely she would have strong ties to Dumbledore.” 

“How much do you know about Halley Potter?” Tom asked. 

“Little, I confess. Theodore has only spoken about her in passing.”

“Where does she live?” Tom asked. “Who are her guardians? What was she doing before she arrived at Hogwarts two years ago? Why was she placed into Slytherin above Gryffindor, or even Ravenclaw? She has the capacity for intelligence if what happened in the Chamber was any indication.” 

Lysander began to answer only to realise he couldn’t. With a start, he realised that he was able to answer those questions for any other Pureblood or Half-blood child from the Malfoys to the Greengrasses, the Davises, Rowles, Diggorys and even the Finnigans, Weasleys and Lovegoods. 

To varying levels, of course. 

It was beneath him to know the goings-on of Half-Bloods. But Halley Potter was an exception. And he knew almost _nothing_ about her. 

Tom watched Lysander closely. He noticed the moment it clicked into place and smiled an acerbic smile. “Nobody knows.”

“Why not?” 

“Dumbledore has been hiding her away with Muggles.” 

A sharp intake of breath came from Lysander. “Surely not.” 

Tom hummed. “It _is_ clever. Hiding her in the Muggle world kept her from Death Eaters and Voldemort sympathisers. But it also should have kept her stupid. And Miss Potter is not stupid.” 

There was, indeed, logic to that argument, but Theo had told him that Halley Potter had known barely anything of the Wizarding World when she had come to Hogwarts. 

She had, apparently, made allies with the Parkinson and Greengrass heirs, which suggested Potter had made herself knowledgeable in the matters of alliances and vassals, but to not have that knowledge passed down by family? That would have made her a lamb for the slaughter!

“Did Dumbledore engineer it so?” he asked himself. 

Tom laughed. “Who’s to say for sure. But I would not put it past the old goat. I suspect he knew Voldemort was not truly dead and he _is_ the sacrificing type.” 

Lysander pulled his lips into a grimace of distaste. He was well aware of the skeletons Albus Dumbledore was hiding. Knowledge was power after all. 

“That is unbefitting behaviour to the heir of House Potter,” was all he said. 

“Quite. However, I believe Miss Potter is something of an observer. She seems to bide her time, waiting for the opportune moment.” 

_Much like a Slytherin._

It was left unsaid but it suggested far too much. Lysander wasn’t sure what Tom’s plan was, nor did he care all that much. But he was left with a gut feeling that Halley Potter was not going to play along nicely. 

“In the meantime, I would like to talk to your grandson. Perhaps at dinner tonight?” 

“What for, my Lord?” he asked. The agonizing torture Death Eaters experienced at Voldemort’s hands flashed through his mind, and Lysander had to still himself with the sudden adrenaline that flooded his veins. 

“I have a job for him while he is at Hogwarts.” 

*******

Halley knew that they hated her. She wasn’t sure if she hated them but there was something hot and angry in the pit of her stomach whenever she saw their faces. 

But they let her out of the cupboard in the middle of August and things carried on as normal. The only difference was how on edge Halley felt. Riddle knew where she lived. What was there to stop him from making another appearance? 

And, more than that, what had he made her do? That spell had bound them together somehow and all he'd told her was that if she broke her word, she would die. 

Was that true? Or was it just a tactic to get her to follow instructions? She knew how powerful a motivator fear and survival were. 

So she kept an eye and an ear out, but he didn't show up. Not once for the rest of the summer did she see him. Although that didn't mean that someone wasn't watching her, but somehow she was very sure that it wasn't Riddle. 

The end of Summer was drawing near, and with it, Halley became more anxious. The Dursleys hadn't said anything, but she knew that there was always the threat of keeping her from going back to Hogwarts. It wouldn't make sense for them to do that but both of them were spiteful enough to keep her in Surrey just because she enjoyed the school. 

And Marge was coming again this year. 

If Halley screwed up, there would be hell to pay. Vernon had told her himself. 

"If I see one hint of that nonsense, if you do anything else while my sister is here, we'll see how you get to that school, freak." 

It was said low, just loud enough to be heard over the news. He didn't even look at her when he said it either, and somehow that struck unparalleled fear into her stomach. Halley nodded and she handed him his tea and scurried back to the kitchen. 

In the background words of an escaped mass murderer could be heard before Vernon switched over the channel. 

The warning was sound and she heeded it. She went about with the cooking, cleaning, gardening and whatever else they threw at her in silence. Yes sirs. No ma'ams. 

Marge came and went without any fuss - well she fussed about everything Halley did and criticised anything she saw which left Halley prone to some bites from the dog - but there was no trouble from Halley. Not even when a letter from Hogwarts came. 

Halley intercepted the owl before it could stop at the house and took it. The owl bit her, drawing blood, when she told it that she didn't have any treats, and then it flew away. 

She tucked the letter safely under her ratty top into the second-hand vest Petunia had reluctantly brought her. Apparently her growing breasts didn't warrant a training bra just yet. 

Halley didn't take it out until she was sure they had all gone to bed. The little light they had given her in the cupboard flickered unstably. It was probably going to give any day, but hopefully Halley would be gone by then. The letter contained the usual required reading list and she was pleased to note that they weren't by the same person. It seemed like the Lockhart fiasco wouldn't be repeated. 

But there was something new in the letter as well. A permission slip. 

Halley had forgotten that Third Year was the first year that students were allowed to go to Hogsmeade and she touched the paper fondly. The upperclassmen would always bring back something from the sweet shop or the prank shop. 

Halley would sit quietly in the common room while they strategized what stores to go to, or how they were going to take one of the girls to Pudifoots. 

She had wondered how many Wizarding towns there were and only been to Diagon Alley so far. If Hogsmeade was anything like Diagon, she would be in for a treat. 

But she needed permission from a guardian and there was no way she would get it now, despite not having gotten into any more trouble for at least three weeks. But maybe she could just forge one of their signatures. 

Halley took a pen from one of the old containers and laid the parchment flat against her thigh.

She signed Petunia's signature in the familiar overly floral cursive, smiling. But the ink seemed to sink into the parchment. 

For a moment, Halley's heart leapt into her throat. It was exactly what had happened with Riddle's diary. Logic overcame her as soon as the writing came back red. 

A school wouldn’t do that, require the price of your soul, much less for a permission slip.

It must have been enchanted somehow. Maybe to recognise an adult, or maybe it was somehow linked to the Hogwarts registry? 

No, that didn't make sense; they wouldn't be able to know if the signature was faked then. But either way, she didn't think she would be going to Hogsmeade unless the Dursleys decided to be kind or she snuck into the village. 

Halley bit back the disappointment. There were more pressing things to think about like how she was going to get her textbooks this year. 

And what Riddle wanted with her. 

Honestly, it was probably safer for her to stay in the castle. Riddle could strike at any time, but it would be impossible to reach her in Hogwarts. 

With nothing else to do, Halley turned the lightbulb off and lay down trying to keep herself warm. There was only a week left and then - she hoped - she would be back at Hogwarts. 


	6. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The alley was quiet. Still. But she knew that there was movement everywhere the same way she knew that nobody would come for her if she screamed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's late. This one seems to constantly get away from me even though I know Friday is approaching. I think I'm going to be a little more lenient with myself and say that the updates will happen at some point between Friday and Sunday every week because this isn't working so well for me.
> 
> Anyways, thank you to everyone who has read, kudosed, subscribed and commented. It's so cool to see the numbers growing steadily each week :D
> 
> And as always, a giant thank you to WithPatienceComesPeace, JujuGentle and CleverMird for being my Betas. Soo many mistakes would be here if it wasn't for you three.

* * *

**Chapter 5: Asking all around if I am anywhere to be found**

* * *

The alley was quiet. Still. But she knew that there was movement everywhere the same way she knew that nobody would come for her if she screamed. 

Riddle was holding her wrist and looking at her. He would do anything to keep it a secret. And she was connected to him somehow.

He felt angry. She felt scared.

The prostitute stood there with her wand out. She finished the spell and then she turned to Halley. She was asking for help, but the words didn't come out of her mouth.

Then Riddle lifted his wand. She couldn't see it, but she knew he had. He cast the spell. Suddenly she was watching from inside a mirror. This one she knew - it tingled with magic - the Mirror of Erised. 

Riddle looked on, cold fury in his eyes. Halley was trapped. Inside the mirror. With Riddle. 

She reached out and touched her fingertips to the glass.

The moment she did the familiar green of the spell hit the prostitute. The prostitute didn't fall to the ground like she was supposed to. Instead, she turned around and looked through the mirror at Halley.

The prostitute's eyes were unblinking. Vivid green. The same colour as the unforgivable. The same colour as Halley's eyes. 

The prostitute was staring unblinking at her with Halley's own eyes. But they weren't Halley's eyes.

Then the prostitute opened her mouth wide, impossibly wide, unhinging at the jaw. Gaping. Her eyes still unblinking. She screamed a piercing wail. But it wasn't her voice. The same way they weren't Halley's eyes.

The wail dripped in fear and grief and desperation. Halley had heard it before.

Her mother's cry. 

Halley's cry. 

The prostitute's cry. 

The prostitutes stepped through the mirror and Halley was raising her arm. Her wand in her hand. The spell was said: Avada Kedavra. 

The prostitute crumpled at her hand. 

\----

Halley woke with a gasp of air. Not a small one, but one that hurt her lungs to breathe in with the force of it.

The dream had shaken her, but even now it was slipping away. The only bits she could remember properly were the mirror and the scream. Her mum's scream.

Halley didn’t know how she knew it was her mum, but she was certain it was. Halley swallowed down the lump that had formed in her throat. She didn't know what the time was, but judging by the lack of sound, it was too early for the rest of the household to be awake.

She sat up and curled in on herself, holding her knees and wrapping her hand around them. 

The tears came then. As soon as she felt her own body heat at her chest Halley began crying. Really, she was surprised it hadn't started sooner.

The Chamber. Weasley. Riddle. The Dursley’s. 

_Don’t cry - don’t cry!_

But the tears flowed freely, the sobs wracked at her body, and all the while she sat, breathing in the dust from under the stairs, holding onto herself with no illusions that things would get better. 

How could they? 

But today, at least, she would be leaving for Hogwarts. There was some reprieve. She just had to get there. 

Hedwig hadn’t come back with her during the summer; it was better for everyone if she stayed at the grounds. Halley’s trunk was already packed. She'd had the foresight to repack it the first night back because everything was on a whim with the Dursley’s. 

But they had locked it all away in the storing cupboard after Riddle had taken her away. Vernon had no intention of giving it back to her either; he had no intention of helping her at all.

But Halley had very little to lose right now. She would have to break the lock and steal money from one of their purses, but she _would_ get herself to Platform 9 ¾. 

_Dry your eyes. Don't be weak._

*******

It had all gone smoothly; Halley broke the lock with an old pair of shears in the toolbox, got her trunk and took the money she had been stealing over the summer.

Kings Cross hadn't changed in the two-and-a-half months since she'd last been there, but Halley had.

Everything felt different. She remembered stepping onto the train at the start of her second year. How worried she’d been as she waited for Snape to collect her from the station. 

She had been so naive. It had only been a year ago.

Now, as she loaded her trunk and Hedwig's empty cage into the luggage compartment on the almost empty train, she swallowed and a part of her grieved for the little girl she had been. 

And she wondered what type of girl she would be next time she stepped onto the platform.

Riddle had some sort of plan – she knew that - but what was it? And when would he put it into place? Worse yet, how big of a part would she end up playing? He'd kept her alive for some reason after all. 

What would her silence cost her? Because people were counting on her in some way or another, and Voldemort was still alive. And what if Riddle joined him? 

She’d made him swear he would teach her, so what would his tutelage give her?

Halley glanced once more around the station and then made her way onto the train to find a carriage. Other than one carriage with a dishevelled looking man, the rest were mostly empty. But she ignored them all and carried on down towards the Slytherin compartments. 

The lack of people didn't surprise her. While the train arrived at the platform an hour before it was scheduled to depart, most students arrived at 10.30. Magic made easy access. 

It was only the Muggleborns that came too early. 

Halley found the compartment she'd ridden back in at the end of last year and sat herself down. 

She didn't know when her peers would arrive; Halley hadn't known anyone in her first year and Dobby's magic had interfered with the last one, so she hadn't had the opportunity to ride with them. She assumed they would get there in the next half hour. In the meantime she sat quietly, strategically placed so that she would see anyone who passed the compartment. 

That was how she saw Ron Weasley with enough time to have her wand at the ready. 

Hayley was under no illusions about his intentions, but she hoped she was wrong.

She wasn't.

“On your own, Potter?” Weasley asked. His tone was nasty. Harsh. And his face matched it; angry with bags under his eyes like he hadn’t slept the whole summer. Halley didn’t doubt that he hadn’t. 

Halley didn’t know what she should do. Weasley was looking at her like he wanted to hurt her badly, and she knew why. 

“This is a bad idea, Weasley,” she said softly. She noticed his wand resting at his side, but she chose to keep hers tucked into her sleeve. She would use it if she had to, but she didn’t want to aggravate the situation any more than necessary. She didn’t want to aggravate _him_. 

“Is that a threat?” he asked. 

Halley shook her head. “I don’t want trouble.” 

Weasley laughed, his tone dark and cold enough to make the hair at the back of her neck stand to attention in anticipation. “That’s funny. Ginny didn’t want trouble either, but now _she’s_ dead.” 

Halley’s mouth went dry at the implication.

Weasley stepped closer and in the same breath raised his wand so it was pointing right between her eyes. 

The compartment suddenly felt far smaller than it had before. The glass windows only showed the brick wall of the station and made everything all the more claustrophobic and dangerous. 

“I didn’t kill her,” she whispered through a sandpapered throat. “I - it wasn’t me.” 

“You were the only other person in the Chamber, Potter. And everyone knows you’re a Dark Lady in the making, as if being a Parselmouth wasn’t enough proof!” he spat. 

She was now thoroughly regretting staying seated. She should have stood up as soon as he entered the compartment. If she did that now, she ran the risk of her movements coming across as threatening. And while she didn’t have much confidence in his magical ability, she knew he had a mind for strategy. Enough that he could turn most situations in his favour. 

“I -” What could she say? Riddle’s Imperious had meant that she wasn’t able to tell anyone about the Chamber in and of itself, but the Vow had added another layer to the situation. Even if she had wanted to tell Weasley how his sister had died or what had happened, she couldn’t. “I’m sorry.” 

That was all she could say. 

She hadn’t cared much for the Weasley girl. She’d only gone after her because she’d wanted the diary back, but Halley hadn’t wanted the girl to die. She hadn’t wanted any of this. She should have never picked up the diary.

“You will be,” Weasley said. 

She saw him clench his wand in preparation to cast a spell and she pulled her own wand out of her sleeve. Weasley tensed as she stood up. “Please don’t,” she said. “I don’t want to hurt you.” 

He narrowed his eyes. “You think I’m afraid of _you_?” he asked. 

Halley just looked at him with a level stare hoping that he would get it. That he would just back away. It wasn’t worth it.

But she wouldn’t know what he would decide, because a moment later the compartment door slid open and Parkinson walked through quietly, followed by Greengrass. 

“I think you’ve come to the wrong compartment, Weasley,” Greengrass said softly. It was pleasant enough but there was an edge that warned him against hexing Halley. 

Parkinson hummed distastefully. “I’m sure I saw your...brood somewhere further along. They seemed like they were waiting for you.”

Weasley snarled at the three of them, but he knew what would happen if he stayed. They all did. The three of them would overpower him, and for Weasley to attack House Potter, Parkinson and Greengrass unprovoked…

The Weasley’s may have been Blood Traitors, but they knew enough to know that causing a family feud was not going to be a good course of action. 

Halley had to wonder why he thought he could attack her alone. But then, maybe he was banking on her not understanding Pureblood customs. Or maybe he was just desperate. 

But he lowered his wand and the girls parted for him, shutting the door immediately after he had left.

Parkinson narrowed her eyes and stared at Halley. “What the fuck was that, Potter?” 

Halley just blinked and put her wand down. 

“Don’t pull that silent crap on us. What was Weasley doing in the compartment and why were you letting him hold you at Wand-point like that?” Parkinson asked. 

“He was upset about his sister,” Halley said. 

Daphne Greengrass looked at Halley closely. There was something off about her this year. There had been something there on the train ride back as well, but they had mostly left her alone. Nobody knew exactly what had happened down in the Chamber, but Potter had looked bad enough that they didn’t ask. 

But she looked thinner now. More gaunt and...hollow. And Potter was certainly more on edge than Daphne had ever seen her before. She’d always been like that; she kept to herself and was cautious about everything, wary of everyone. But there had been a little give last year after they had all been accused by Filch. 

Not much, but enough to make Daphne think the three of them were on the same page. But whatever had given way had been pushed firmly back in place and Daphne suspected it had quite a bit to do with Ginerva Weasley and the monster in the Chamber. 

“What happened in the Chamber?” Daphne asked gently. 

Green eyes flashed to hers and held them. For a moment she thought Halley would tell them and Daphne held her breath. But as soon as Halley looked away, the moment passed. 

Halley shrugged. “I can’t remember,” she said. 

Halley was careful not to let her voice change or give anything away. Greengrass was perceptive and Parkinson would chase after information until she’d clawed it from the source. If either of them were too suspicious of something then they would pry. It was in a Slytherin’s nature. 

“Sure, Potter.” 

Halley felt her spit catch in her throat at the look Parkinson gave her, but she breathed easier when the girl sat down on one of the seats. Greengrass took that as permission to sit next to Halley. 

There wasn’t enough time for either of them to say anything else because a moment later Millicent Bulstrode and Tracey Davis saw them through the glass and entered the compartment with an obligatory greeting to Halley. 

The other two received a friendlier greeting but Halley found she didn’t care very much. 

There was a continuous flow of students passing the compartment doors now. If Halley had to guess, she would say that the train would be leaving in about ten minutes. But so long as Malfoy didn’t come into their compartment, Halley would be fine. She didn’t have the capacity to deal with him. 

Though Davis could be as bad as Malfoy when the mood struck her, at least she was prone to ignoring Halley. She wasn’t sure why Davis was so cold to her, but she didn’t pay it much attention. If she tried something then Halley would retaliate. Until then, the mutual silence between them suited Halley very well. 

“Who made Prefect this year?” Bulstrode asked. 

Parkinson smiled a devious smile. “Selwyn and Travers, though I heard Selwyn got it by default,” she said. 

“That does not surprise me,” Greengrass said without any judgement. “After that fight between Fawley and Avery then Selwyn was the last respectable female to be chosen for Prefect.” 

Halley remembered that fight. It had been ruthless and landed the two fourth years in the Infirmary for a week. The Howlers that had followed had been ones to scare the new first years as well. Apparently, fighting in the halls was for common filth and Mudbloods alike. 

“Yes, but Selwyn?” Davis asked. “She won’t last very long. She cracked under the pressure of her fourth-year exams! What will she do with Prefect responsibilities on top of her OWLs this year?” 

“Fawley would have been a better choice, regardless,” Parkinson agreed. She took a blood pop from its packet and delicately began nibbling at it. “She’s capable enough to deal with Rowle’s advances.” 

Greengrass tutted. “He and Lyra Rosier have an understanding, no?” 

“I doubt that’s going to stop him. This is his last year - and Head Boy to boot? He’ll have girls in and out of his dorms,” Davis said. 

Halley listened and hummed when she was supposed to. 

Bulstrode took another chocolate frog from the collection and opened it. She caught the thing before it could jump off and bit into it, chucking the card to the floor after an unimpressed glance at Nicholas Flamel. “I don’t envy Selwyn. Not with Black on the loose.” 

Greengrass hummed. “The professors are sure to be on the lookout. Though, I find it interesting they aren’t cancelling Hogsmeade this year.”

“Don’t jinx it, Daphne,” Davis whined. “This is our first year.” 

“As if you haven’t been to Hogsemede yet, Davis,” Parkinson said. “Or haven’t you?” 

Davis flushed and glared at Parkinson. “Of course I have. What do you take me for? But don’t tell me you aren’t excited to be able to get out of the castle?” 

“I suppose so,” Parkinson said leaning back in her seat. “It would be more exciting if Draco got over himself and asked me there.” 

Halley scoffed lightly. Malfoy could only take himself to Hogsmeade with the size of his ego. Bulstrode seemed to agree. 

“Malfoy's so full of himself you’d be lucky if he noticed you. He’s too busy trying to goad Weasley into a fight,” Bulstrode said. The compartment hummed in agreement. 

Then Davis turned to Halley with an odd glint in her eye. “You must be nervous coming back this year, Potter.” 

“Why would I be nervous, Davis?” Halley asked. It seemed they had come to the end of their little quiet ceasefire and Davis was going to try and rile her up. 

“Well, obviously because Black has escaped.”

“What has that got to do with me?” she asked. And who was Black? This was the second time that they had said that name in the last few minutes. What had happened over the summer in the Wizarding world that Halley didn’t know about? 

Davis narrowed her eyes, but then something that looked like understanding crossed her face and she chuckled. “You don’t know, do you?” 

Halley _hated_ that question. There was no way to answer it without the other person being the one in power unless you actually had the answers to those questions. It was just another way to prove that you were weaker than them. 

“Enlighten me,” she said through clenched teeth. Not for the first time she cursed Dumbledore for leaving her with the Dursley’s. 

Davis laughed. “Sirius Black - mass murderer and one of the Dark Lord’s followers - broke out of Azkaban this summer.” 

“And?” 

“Just before he broke out, the guards said they heard him muttering about how you were at Hogwarts.” 

Halley narrowed her eyes. 

“That’s not what they said, Tracey,” Daphne said. “They said they heard him muttering about how _they_ were at Hogwarts.” 

“Yes well. He’s mad, isn’t he? Mad and looking to finish off what his Lord started.” 

Halley found herself wanting to throttle Davis more than she had ever wanted to before. The idiot was truly on par with Malfoy. 

If Black had escaped from Azkaban, then he was dangerous enough. And if he had the Black madness like the rest of them were supposed to have - then he was lethal. But Halley couldn’t let Davis have the satisfaction of seeing her scared. 

“It’s so good to know that you aren’t able to properly give facts, Davis,” she said instead. Halley saw the smug smile fall off Davis' face. “It seems like all those tutors over Summer haven’t helped you much. Hopefully you’ll get up to scratch by the time OWLs come around otherwise it might be you and Longbottom tying for the worst score.” 

“You think you’re so clever Potter,” Davis hissed. 

“More so than you,” Halley retorted. 

“I bet your parents thought the same. But it was Black that betrayed them to the Dark Lord, you know.” 

“What?” The words seemed to roll off Halley like she hadn’t heard them properly and her mind scrambled to make sense of them. But Davis kept talking. 

“Rumour has it, your parents even made him your Godfather,” Davis spat. “Funny, isn’t it. If he is your Godfather, then it’s all the more ironic that he’s coming to finish you off.” 

“I think it’s better that you just keep quiet,” Parkinson said tensely. “You’re embarrassing us.” 

The help was unexpected, but Halley was so far beyond angry now. Fury was making her shake. For some reason the anger was making her cold.

“Davis!” Bulstrode said. “Stop.” 

“I would remind you who you’re talking to, Davis. House Potter is still in stronger standing than House Davis,” Greengrass said with narrow eyes. 

“Like the bitch deserves it,” Davis hissed. 

Halley was about to lunge at her, but the train suddenly braked. Halley’s reflexes were quicker than the others but even still, she was hurled forwards into Parkinson’s lap as the force of the brakes kept her there. 

“Bloody hell!” someone shouted. 

“Why has the train stopped?” 

Then the lights flickered off. All five of them sat still listening to their breathing and the panic coming from the other compartments. 

“What the fuck is going on?” Parkinson asked. 

Sounds of footsteps came from outside and then the compartment slid open. “Is everyone ok?” The voice was familiar enough to Halley, but she couldn’t place it. Then a spell was cast, and they were all bathed in the warm glow of light. Because it was pointed at them Halley couldn’t see who the voice belonged to, but the others seemed to recognise him. 

“We’re fine, Rowle,” Greengrass said. “But what’s going on?” 

“I’m not sure, but we’re going up to the driver to find out. Can any of you cast Lumos yet?” Rowle asked. 

“Potter?” Greengrass asked her. Halley looked at the spell but she didn’t recognise it from any of the books she’d read and she doubted she’d be able to pick it up on the first try at the moment. 

“No,” she said. 

“Alright,” Rowle said. “Just stay in your compartments until the lights come back on. I’ll check in on you on my way back.” Then the light moved away and the compartment door slid closed. 

Halley was momentarily blinded as the spots cleared from her eyes but when they eventually did, she was able to see more clearly in the dark. Everything was getting clearer too, as her eyes adjusted. 

Halley pushed the hair that had fallen into her eyes away, tucking the curly strand behind her ear. It was a good thing she didn’t wear glasses with the number of times she’d fallen, or a quidditch ball had flown at her. 

“This is just stupid,” Bulstrode said. “What are they doing?” 

“Has the train ever stopped before?” Halley asked. 

Was this Riddle? Was he attacking the train for some reason? No, that didn’t make any sense. He wanted her to stay quiet - to not bring any attention to him - so why would he attack the train? 

“Not that I’ve ever heard,” Parkinson said. “Figures this would be the year it happens.” 

A sudden chill swept over Halley and the hairs at the back of her neck stood up. She shivered and rubbed at her arms through the too-thin sleeved shirt. 

Davis looked at Halley. “If this is Black, know I won’t hesitate to hand you over, Potter.”

“It’s not Black!” Parkinson shouted. “Whatever interfered with the train is strong magic. Not a man who's been rotting in Azkaban for twelve years!” 

“You never know.” 

“Stop it, Tracy,” Bulstrode sighed, shivering a little herself. As she did so, her breath became visible.

Halley didn’t realise at first. It came on slowly, but at some point, she realised she was freezing cold and she was miserable. 

“What’s happening?” Greengrass asked, her voice cracking. 

It was the first time Halley had ever heard her tone break, and it worked to make her more scared. 

Then, the sound of the door opening started again. Slowly. Creepingly. 

Standing in the doorway was something Halley had never seen before, and it only took a second to know that she never wanted to see it again. Long, pitch black, robes draped on the floor. She couldn’t see its face.

Halley looked down and started in fright. There was a hand protruding from the cloak and it was glistening, greyish, slimy-looking, and scabbed, like something dead that had decayed in water. 

But it was visible only for a split second. 

It was like the thing had sensed Halley’s gaze on it, because the hand was suddenly withdrawn into the folds of its black cloak.

“Dementor,” Bulstrode squeaked. 

It was as if its name was a trigger for something because a second later it drew a long, slow, rattling breath like it was trying to suck something other than the air from the compartment. 

An intense cold - one that reminded her too much of winters under the cupboard - crept into Halley and burrowed its way into her skin. Into her chest. Her heart. 

Halley’s eyes rolled up into her head with so much force that it hurt. She couldn’t see anything. She was flailing around in the cold and it felt like water was rushing into her ears. Like she was being drowned. 

A roaring sounded, louder and louder, growing heavier and pulling her further down. 

And then, from far away, she heard screaming. Terrified, horrible, pleading screaming. Her mum screaming. And someone laughing. 

“Potter? Potter! Halley!” 

There was a sharp sting against her cheek. Halley opened her eyes and was met with bright lights overhead. The floor was shaking - slowly she realised that the train was moving again - and she was on the floor again. 

She felt sick. So sick. 

Between the dream, Davis and whatever had just happened, it was too much

Halley turned over and threw up on someone’s shoes and then her eyes rolled back into her head. She had fainted. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you like it? I would love to hear some feedback on this chapter :)


	7. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Fifteen students collapsed on the train because of the Dementors, Albus!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHH! This fic is so close to 100 kudos and has had so many views! That's so cool! And I want to thank everyone whos contributed to that because it's well over what I expected in such a short amount of time! Thank you! 
> 
> This chapter is a little more chill. You have some breathing room and I'm gonna say now, it's not going to happen very often. Hope you enjoy it. And as usual, a big thank you to WithPatienceComesPeace and CleverMird for beta-ing! 
> 
> On with the show!

* * *

Chapter 6: Now my eyes are open, look what [god] has done

* * *

_ 25th December 1991 _

Much of the first half of her Christmas holidays had been spent in a weird mix of emotions; Halley was happy not to have to go back to the Dursley’s - without a doubt, that almost made this the best Christmas she had ever had. But at the same time, she also had no-one to spend it with. 

It was so much more noticeable when the Slytherin table was all but empty. The only few staying behind were the Seventh Years who were studying frantically for NEWTs. Halley looked over at the Gryffindor table at the loud laughter of the Muggleborns. 

At least they had friends. 

The holidays after Christmas morning were spent exploring the castle. Someone - probably a teacher - had gifted her a unique item of clothing. Research in the library had suggested it was an invisibility cloak, though she wasn’t sure about that. The note that had been attached to her present had said the cloak had been passed down from her father. From the small pamphlet she’d found, most invisibility cloaks had Notice-Me-Not Charms and very weak Disillusionment Charms that wore off after a couple of years. 

_This was obviously not the same thing,_ she thought as she ran her fingers through the silky soft fabric, watching as her hand disappeared and reappeared. Nothing had happened to her hand in the meantime so what would be the harm of trying the cloak out? 

The Dursleys had, after all, instilled in her the benefits of keeping things from going to waste. And when better to use the cloak but when no-one was around to see her? 

Later that evening, once dinner had been served to the handful of people, Halley made her way back to her room and removed the cloak from its place under her bed. There were so many things she could see, but where should she start? 

It was silly to just walk around the castle without any plan, but then...she’d never had the luxury to just walk somewhere without there needing to be a reason. And maybe it was high time she got to spend a Christmas doing exactly what she wanted. With that thought in her head, and a small but rare smile on her face, Halley placed her feet into slippers, put a jumper and a scarf on, and placed the cloak over her head. 

The goings on of the castle weren't the most interesting things she’d ever seen. Most of the portraits were asleep - and she wouldn't have been able to speak to them even if she wanted to because she wasn’t supposed to be out of bed this late. 

But the boredom of wandering the castle was interrupted quickly. Footsteps were coming her way and by the time they were close enough for her to hear their voices she was panicking all the more. Snape would kill her and Filch would happily help!

Halley stood rooted to the spot as Filch and Snape came around the corner ahead. They couldn't see her, of course, but it was a narrow corridor and if they came much nearer they'd knock right into her - the cloak didn't stop her from being solid.

Her eyes found a door along the corridor and she backed away as quickly and as quietly as she could - making sure that her slippers didn’t scrape across the stone. The door stood slightly open to her left and without thinking, she squeezed through the entry, holding her breath and praying that it wasn’t one of the castle doors that creaked. Her heart hammered in her throat for the few seconds it took for them to pass and Halley leaned against the wall, breathing deeply as she listened to their footsteps echo more and more quietly. That had been _too_ close. 

She breathed in and out for a few more seconds before she realised that the room she’d escaped into looked like an unused classroom. That wasn’t odd in and of itself; how many unused rooms must there have been in a castle this size? But there was something unsettling about being in a room that had no use to it. The dark outlines of the desks and chairs were stacked up against the wall, as if someone had placed them there to be out of the way of something. 

It was weird, until she saw what they had made space for. 

It was a mirror; magnificent and as tall as the blackboard resting behind it, standing with two clawed feet. There was an inscription carved around the top. So, with all thoughts of Filch and Snape out of her mind, she moved forward to get a closer look _. Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi._

It seemed like an old language. Not Latin or Greek, but something else. Almost on the tip of her tongue. Like she should recognise the words, but her brain wasn’t making sense of them. Stepping closer to try and understand the new riddle placed in front of her, something felt very out of place. It wasn’t until she realised that she hadn't seen her reflection in the mirror that Halley frowned. So she stepped straight in front of it. 

She had to clap a hand over her mouth to stop herself from screaming. Halley spun around, craning her neck to see the intruders behind her - but there was no one there. Heart thumping furiously again, she faced back towards the mirror, then back behind her once more, just to check. But there was no-one behind her

The mirror painted a different picture though. Beside her were two people. She didn’t recognise them, but like the feeling she’d had when reading the inscription, Halley felt like they were familiar. The woman standing right behind her reflection smiled and waved. Halley found herself waving back until she realised what she was doing. The tall, thin, black-haired man standing next to the woman reached out his hand and stroked the back of Halley’s hair - but she felt nothing!

So it wasn’t that they were invisible. They weren’t really there. 

But why were they so familiar to her? 

Halley studied their features and they stood there, letting her. The woman had tears in her almond-shaped green eyes, and the man’s glasses seemed to glint in the light, the smile on his face almost daring her to figure it out. She’d seen those features before - not often. But where? 

A choked gasp escaped her throat, struggling to get past the hand that was still covering her mouth. She knew those features because some of them were hers! 

“Mum?” she bit out. “Dad?” They just looked at her, smiling. 

The hand covering her mouth moved on its own, reaching out to touch the glass. But it stopped before touching the cold surface. What if they left? What if she ruined whatever magic was showing her this? 

She didn’t want to ruin this - not this. She was looking at her family for the first time in her life! 

She didn’t know how long she stood there for. The reflections didn’t fade, but they also didn’t interact with her again so Halley stayed staring at what could have been until a noise from outside the room startled her, bringing her back to her senses. She couldn’t stay there - if someone found her outside her bed - if _Snape_ found her!

Donning the cloak once more, Halley made her way back to the Dungeons, making note that the slippers were the best things she could have worn, and she thanked whoever had left them for her.

The next night she went back, and the night after she found herself sitting in front of the mirror raking up the courage to touch it. If it was just a mirror then nothing would happen - but what if it did? What then? This was the only way she would ever be able to see her mother and father smiling at her. 

After that first evening, they’d done nothing more than smile and look at each other. They were like the pictures in the newspaper - moving just enough that they were stuck in a loop. Not really conscious, just an image captured and repeated. But what if she could somehow get them to talk back to her? 

Halley swallowed down the fear and made to move her hand forward. Her fingers extended and almost touched the surface. 

"So - back again, Halley?"

Halley yelped. Her insides felt as if they had turned to ice as she turned to look behind her. Sitting on one of the desks was Dumbledore. How had he gotten in without making a noise?

"I - I didn't see you, sir."

"Strange how near sighted being invisible can make you," said Dumbledore, smiling. Halley frowned. 

"So," said Dumbledore, slipping off the desk to sit on the floor with Halley. She scooted further away so she wasn’t touching his navy-blue robes, "you, like hundreds before you, have discovered the delights of the Mirror of Erised."

Halley said nothing, not sure what to make of the situation. 

“I expect you realise by now what its purpose is?” he asked.

“It shows you things, images, of...what could have been.” She refused to look at him properly, but Dumbledore seemed to be content staring at the mirror with a small sad smile on his face. Halley wondered what he saw. 

"The happiest man on earth would be able to use the Mirror of Erised like a normal mirror. That is, he would look into it and see himself exactly as he is. Does that help?"

Halley shook her head. 

Dumbledore made a quiet noise. "It shows us nothing more or less than the deepest, most desperate desire of our hearts. However, this mirror will give us neither knowledge nor truth. Many have wasted away before it, entranced by what they have seen, or been driven mad, not knowing if what it shows is real or even possible.” 

“It’s not,” she blurted out bitterly. Halley had a powerful kind of ache inside her, some joy, some sadness, but mostly, an overwhelming sense of bitterness and loss. This is what she could have had, but she didn’t. And no-one would tell her why! 

“I suppose it’s not for me to argue.”

Halley’s cold green eyes flickered to Dumbledore's in the mirror. Something about what he said struck a chord. Halley had the distinct feeling he knew what she had seen - and though it wouldn’t take a genius to guess - it left her uncomfortable. 

“Do you know what I saw, sir?” she asked. 

He looked at her. “If I were to guess, I would say your family.” 

“What happened to them? No-one knows, and there are no records.” 

Albus turned so he was looking at Halley face to face, no longer through the mirror. He watched the small figure, hunched over and curled into herself and his mind was cast back to the little boy who’d looked at him with the same longing to understand. The hat was right. Halley Potter was full of anger and he wondered if it was damage that could be repaired. “Your parents died doing the one thing that would make them happiest. They were saving you.”

“Why was he there?” 

He almost told her the truth, almost told her about the prophecy there and then but he stopped himself. Too often he’d allowed those too young to bear the responsibility of adult hardships. This time he would let the child stay a child. He folded his hands into his cloak and felt the cold fingertips press against his pulse. It thudded in a painful reminder that he was still alive when, maybe, someone else should have been.

“Your parents were a part of an organisation that openly opposed Voldemort’s attacks. He was not pleased and on Halloween night, when he was provided an opportunity to, he attacked you all.” 

Halley’s frown tightened and she cast her eyes back to the mirror. “Why didn’t he kill me as well?”

“He tried.” Her head shot up as he said it. “But there is something far stronger than hate and anger Halley. Do you know what it is?” Silence was once again her answer. “It is love. Love is the greatest force, and a mother’s love...it is irrevocable.” 

His words triggered something in her. Halley’s hand went to the mirror, reaching out for the image of her mother. Her stubby nails looked out of place against the smooth surface of the glass but she pressed the tips of her fingers against them anyway, following the line of her mother’s jeans. When she moved her hand away there were no streaks. 

Tears filled her eyes and she let them fall into her lap. So they had died because of her? It was her fault that they were dead and she couldn’t do anything about it. 

"The Mirror will be moved to a new home tomorrow, Halley, and I ask you not to go looking for it again. It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live, remember that. Now, why don't you put that admirable cloak back on and get off to bed?"

She wiped the tears away as she stood up, barely noticing that Dumbledore now knew about the cloak - she would think about it later and decide whether or not she would keep using it. Halley took a final look at the mirror, and then a thought occurred to her. 

“What do you see?” 

She watched him as he purposely stifled himself from looking at the mirror. “I? I see myself holding a pair of thick, woollen socks.” Halley starred. "One can never have enough socks," said Dumbledore. "Another Christmas has come and gone and I didn't get a single pair. People will insist on giving me books."

_He’s lying._ The thought was instinctual but it was unshakable. And suddenly Halley wondered how much of what he had just told her was the truth and as she made her way back to her bed she thought about it. The question had been personal, undoubtedly so, but it felt more than that. And Halley had learned to trust her instincts more than anything. People lied. Her gut didn’t. 

*******

_ 1st September 1993  _

“Fifteen students collapsed on the train because of the Dementors, Albus!” Pomona Sprout called out angrily as if he wasn’t well aware of how many children had suffered. “Fifteen! What were you thinking? Dementors on the Hogwarts Express?” 

Dumbledore sighed. Remus’ Patronus had come ahead letting them know what had happened and the staff had all gathered in his office where they would have otherwise been preparing for the Sorting. For the most part, they had all been quiet, but Pomona was livid. 

“Are the students all well?” he asked. 

“Halley Potter, Percy Weasley, Terry Boot, Hannah Crawley and Neville Longbottom were the worst off, according to Lupin. All of them were given their fill of chocolate from the trolley,” Minerva reported. 

“Good,” he said, nodding. “I’ll speak to Fudge about the Dementors. For now, we will put up stronger wards for the students and tonight I’ll affirm the importance of not wandering past the thresholds when they arrive.” 

It didn't bode well that the Dementors were already pushing the boundaries put in place for them. In fact, it was worrying Albus more than he would care to admit. But he would send an owl right after the feast and his talk with Halley.

The sound of the train arriving came from Hogsmeade and Albus moved over to the window. The steam from the Express curled and stretched with the wind, vibrant white could be seen against the black sky until it dissipated. He sighed again hoping this year would bring more happiness than the last.

“The students are here,” he said addressing the room. “Come. Let us take our places at the table in the Great Hall. Familiarity will do some good, I think.” 

*******

There was a distinct lull in the hall that hadn't been there since Myrtle Warren’s death all those years ago, and Albus was disheartened to see it once more. Death was unifying in its domination, and fear even more so. Especially for those who were left behind to deal with it. 

He took a moment and then stood. The Hall went quiet as it usually did and Albus began. 

He welcomed back old students and welcomed the new. He introduced both Remus and Hagrid as new professors and heard the litany of murmurs from Slytherin and happy applause from Gryffindor.

And then he addressed the topic of the Dementors.

“I have no doubt that many more of you were affected by the Dementors’ presence than you would have otherwise been, especially after last year’s events. Hogwarts has lost one of our own and it is with great sorrow and sympathy that we remember her.” 

The silence was thunderous, and the eyes of hundreds of students were all trained on him. This was the part that he hated each year, but this was particularly aggravating. 

Still he continued. 

“The Dementors are here and will be until Sirius Black is captured and once more returned to Azkaban. As such, the Dementors will be stationed at every entrance to the grounds so a word of caution: They will not distinguish between those they hunt and those in their way. Give them no reason to harm you.” 

The students were still and quiet, reliving their experience on the train. 

“But,” he continued, raising his tone, “happiness can be found even in the darkest of times if one only remembers to turn on the light.” 

His eyes scanned the tables hoping the words would reach some, if not all, of the students. When they came to the Slytherin table, he sought out Halley. She was looking down, her hands cupping a mug of something he hoped was hot chocolate. 

By the dullness in her eyes, Albus didn’t think she’d heard anything he said at all. 

*******

She’d come after the feast - as he’d called for her - and was now sitting in front of him staring blankly at Fawks. 

“How are you, my girl?” Albus asked gently. 

“Fine,” she said. The response was automatic, she hadn’t even looked up at him. Even now, the Sorting Hat’s words echoed in his mind. 

“I heard about the incident on the train.” 

Halley looked up then, and her eyes focused on his for a second before she slid them away and back to Fawks. It wasn’t long enough to try Legilimency even if he was inclined. And Albus was not. 

Voldemort was still alive. She had such a task ahead of her. The girl deserved some semblance of dignity at the least. 

“How did you hear about that?” she asked. 

“Professor Lupin was on the train; he was unable to leave his previous place of residence before the month's end, unfortunately. He sent the staff a message.” 

Halley frowned. “What are Dementors?” she asked. “Why did they affect me like that?” 

Albus clasped his hands together and placed them on the desk. From beside him Fawks trilled soothingly and Albus took comfort in his familiar. “Dementors are dark creatures. They feed on hope, peace and happiness and are drawn to those who have had hardships.” 

The guilt ate at him some. But he didn’t tell her the rest. 

“How do you get rid of them?” she asked. 

“I’m afraid no-one has found a way to destroy Dementors as of yet,” he said solemnly. “But there is a charm powerful enough to chase them away.” Halley’s eyes perked up some and Albus flinched at the hope he would have to take away. She was powerful, no doubt, but not enough to cast a Patronus this young. 

“It takes a great deal of power and control over one’s magic to master this particular spell, I’m sorry to say.” 

“So how am I - we - supposed to keep ourselves safe from them?” she asked angrily. 

“Do not worry, my girl. What happened on the Express won’t happen again,” he assured her. It didn’t look much like it had worked; she was still angry and Albus couldn’t fault her for it. He wondered what she had experienced, but he had a fair idea. 

“I also wanted to check in on you after our last meeting,” he said. “Did anything come back to you over the summer?” 

He watched her carefully. She was easier to read than she thought because her lips tightened, and she stiffened in her chair noticeably. 

“No,” she said. “I still can’t remember.” 

Albus nodded and thanked her for her time, letting her know he was there if she needed support or if she remembered anything. “I expect you’re tired and I’m sorry for keeping you from your bed for so long, Halley.” 

She shrugged and made to stand up. “Goodnight, Professor,” she said. 

“Goodnight,” he replied. 

He sighed when she left. He didn’t quite believe her. There was something that she was keeping close to her chest. Though in time, he hoped that she would trust him enough to tell him. It was important. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed, and I would love to hear your thoughts on it. 
> 
> I'm going to take a week's break with this fic. I'm about to start a new government job and I have a feeling I won't be able to edit chapter 7 and get it to my betas in time for next week. So I'm going to try and build up a little edited backlog of chapters just in case work gets to be a lot over the next couple of weeks. If somehow I get more done than I thought, I'll upload between Friday and Sunday next week but I don't know how likely it is. 
> 
> Enjoy your week :)


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